i  HE  WAR  IN  THE 
CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 


ELEANOR  FRANKLIN   EC  AN 


Univ.  of  California 
Withdrawn 


THE   WAR    IN    THE    CRADLE 
OF   THE    WORLD 


LIEUTENANT-GENERAL  SIR  STANLEY  MAUDE,  "THE  MAN  OF 
MESOPOTAMIA" 


THE  WAR  IN  THE 
CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

MESOPOTAMIA 


BY 
ELEANOR  FRANKLIN  EGAN 


ILLUSTRATED  WITH   PHOTOGRAPHS 
BY  THE  AtTTHOR 


HARPER  y  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 

NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 


With  acknowledgement  to  the  Curtis  Publishing  Company 
of  their  courteous  permission  to  use  such  of  the  material  in 
this  volume  as  has  appeared  in  The  Saturday  Evening  Post 

HISTOiir  i 


THE  WAR  m  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 


Copyright,  1918,  by  Harper  85  Brothers 

Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 

Published  September,  1918 

M 


Just  to  Martin 


2227037 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  THE  LONGEST  WAT  ROUND 1 

II.  THE  SHORTEST  WAY  THERE 7 

HI.  THE  BOMBAY  SIDE  OF  THE  PUNKA  ....  30 

IV.  AN  INTERESTING  BUT  ANXIOUS  INTERVAL     .  50 

V.  To  THE  REMOTEST  ZONE 68 

VI.  WHAT  THE  BRITISH  FOUND 93 

VQ.  NOT  THROUGH  A  PORT-HOLE 104 

V1LL  STRENGTHENING  THE  FOOTHOLD 128 

IX.  INTRODUCING  THE  "POLITICALS" 134 

X.  HOSPITALS  AND  THE  NURSING  SERVICE     .    .  149 

XI.  GENERAL  TOWNSHEND'S  ADVANCE    ....  163 

XII.  LINES  OF  COMMUNICATION 172 

Xm.  UP  THE  RIVER  TIGRIS 188 

XIV.  ON  UP  THE  TIGRIS 205 

XV.  FROM  AMARA  TO  KUT-EL-AMARA 233 

XVI.  A  NEW  KUT 242 

XVLI.  THE  SCENE  OF  THE  TERRIBLE  SIEGE    .     .    .  258 

XVBI.  WITH  GENERAL  MAUDE  IN  COMMAND  .    .    .  269 

XLX.  IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  AN  ANCIENT  RUIN     .    .  276 

XX.  THE  MAN  OF  MESOPOTAMIA 287 

XXI.  ROUND  ABOUT  TOWN 295 

XXH.  WHENCE  HARUN-AL-RASHID  STROLLED  .    .    .  310 

XXTTT.  ACROSS  AN  AMAZING  RIVER 320 

vii 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

XXTV.     RIGHTEOUS  MEN  AND  SONS  OF  INIQUITY       .  327 

XXV.  A  UNIQUE  ENTERTAINMENT 336 

XXVI.  A  DAY'S  END 344 

XXVH.    THE  LAST  POST 349 

XXVm.  AND  THEN  356 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

LIEUTENANT  -  GENERAL    SIR    STANLEY    MAUDE, 

"THE  MAN  OF  MESOPOTAMIA" Frontispiece 

MAHAYLAS  IN  THE  SHATT-EL-ARAB Facing  p.  100 

SCENE  IN  A  CROWDED  CREEK  OF  THE  SHATT-EL- 
ARAB,  AT  BASRA "  100 

THE  CANOE  OF  MESOPOTAMIA — THE  BELUM  .    .       ' '       108 

SCENE  AT  A  CARAVANSERAI — A  MESOPOTAMIAN 

COFFEE-HOUSE "       108 

MAJOR-GENERAL  SIR  GEORGE  MAcMuNN,  IN- 
SPECTOR-GENERAL OF  COMMUNICATIONS  .  .  "  112 

LABOR-CAMP  AT  BASRA,  WITH  INSET  PICTURE 
SHOWING  CAMP  OF  WAR  PRISONERS  AT 
BASRA "  118 

THE  ANCIENT  FORTRESS  OUTSIDE   THE  ZOBIER 

GATE,  AT  BASRA "       146 

THE  ARAB  GUN-DANCE  ATJ  THE  PALACE  OF  SHEIKH 

IBRAHIM "        146 

"THE  DEVIL'S  ELBOW"  ON  THE  TIGRIS    ...       "       208 

PILED  AND  PYRAMIDED  SUPPLIES  ON  THE  BANKS 

OF  THE  RIVER  TIGRIS "       216 

MARCHING-POST  ON  THE  TIGRIS "       216 

A  GLIMPSE  OF  THE  RIVER-FRONT  AT  AMARA, 
WITH  INSET  PICTURE  SHOWING  TROOP- 
TRANSPORT  ON  THE  TIGRIS,  WITH  SUPPLY- 
BARGES  IN  Tow "  226 

KUT-EL-AMARA — THE    SCENE    OF    THE    GREAT 

SIEGE "       236 

ix 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

ON  THE  BATTLE-FIELD  OF  SUNNAIYAT — AN  AHAB 

GHOUL Facing  p.  236 

THE  ARCH  OF  CTESIPHON "       278 

THE  TOMB  OF  EZRA "       278 

THROUGH  THE  NORTH  GATE — VICTORIOUS  BRITISH 
ENTERING  BAGHDAD,  FAMOUS  CITY  OF  THE 
KALIPHS "  302 

AMERICAN  AUTOMOBILES  IN  THE  NEW  STREET, 

BAGHDAD  " 

BRITISH  GUNS,  RECAPTURED  AT  BAGHDAD     .    .       " 

FORTY  THOUSAND  TURKISH  RIFLE-BARRELS  AT 

BAGHDAD "  312 

MILITARY  CONVOY  IN  A  TYPICAL  MESOPOTAMIA^ 

ROADWAY  THROUGH  THE  DATE-GARDENS  .  '*  326 

THE  DESOLATE  GRAVEYARD  WHERE  GENERAL 
MAUDE  Is  BURIED,  WITH  INSET  PICTURE  OF 
THE  GRAVE  OF  GENERAL  MAUDE  ...  352 

THE  SHEIKH  OF  MUHAMMERAH,  AFTER  THE 

CEREMONY  .  "366 


\ 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE 
OF  THE  WORLD 

CHAPTER   I 

THE   LONGEST   WAY  ROUND 

'"THE  only  thrill  to  be  enjoyed  on  a  voyage 
•»•  across  the  Pacific  in  these  perilous  days  is 
provided  by  the  stormy  petrel.  When  that  extraor- 
dinary bird  stretches  its  black  neck  up  in  prepara- 
tion for  a  swift  skimming  flight  across  the  surface 
of  the  sea,  it  looks  enough  like  a  periscope  to  produce 
a  slight  quiver  in  the  fear-center  of  even  the  traveler 
who  has  learned  in  real  sea  danger  zones  to  be 
steady-nerved  and  casual. 

Rumors  of  submarines  and  raiders  in  the  Pacific 
are  practically  continuous,  but  one  pays  very  little 
attention  to  them.  An  encounter  with  a  raider  is 
not  to  be  so  greatly  dreaded  in  any  case,  and  my 
own  placid  sense  of  safety  all  the  way  over  was  due 
largely  to  my  belief  that  no  submarine  would  dare 
to  venture  into  the  zone  through  which  we  chose  to 
travel,  even  though  it  might  be  able  to  get  past  the 
naval  watch  of  many  nations. 

Midsummer  though  it  happened  to  be,  there  were 

l 


THE  W/VR  IN  TfiE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

days  when  our  northern  horizon  was  saw-toothed 
with  Arctic  ice  mountains,  and  all  the  time  we  sat 
huddled  in  rugs  and  furs  in  sheltered  corners  of  the 
deck  or  sought  comfort  in  the  snug  library  away 
from  marrow-chilling  winds. 

When  the  winds  were  still,  cold  fogs  would  rise 
and  the  great  horn  would  begin  to  bellow.  It  was 
not  pleasant,  but  it  was  to  be  preferred  to  the  taut 
suspense  one  suffers  on  the  seas  where  the  U-boat 
is  known  to  bear  one  company.  Yet  I  must  hasten 
to  record  that  this  route  was  not  chosen  for  any 
reason  except  that  it  is  the  shortest  one  between  the 
Pacific  coast  of  North  America  and  the  shores  of 
Japan. 

When  we  started  down  the  western  curve  of  the 
great  half -circle  that  we  cut  across  the  ocean  there 
were  days  when  we  had  no  horizon  at  all,  so  com- 
pletely enveloping  the  fog  was.  And  it  seemed  to 
me  as  though,  wrapped  in  mist,  we  were  steaming 
farther  and  farther  away  from  the  war  and  all 
that  the  war  means  to  the  world  that  is  suffering 
its  consequences. 

And  so  we  were.  At  any  rate,  one  got  an  instant 
and  inescapable  impression  that  Japan  is  farther 
from  the  war  than  any  other  great  country  involved, 
and  that  she  has  realized  it  least  of  all.  That  is, 
she  has  suffered  little.  But  her  observable  extraor- 
dinary gains  and  material  developments  are  suffi- 
cient to  fill  a  returning  lover  of  her  beauties  and 
charm  with  a  definite  sense  of  loss. 

The  last  time  I  sailed  out  of  Yokohama  harbor 
Fujiyama  "came  down  to  the  sea."  So  I  knew  that 
sooner  or  later  I  should  return. 

2 


THE  LONGEST  WAY  ROUND 

Ordinarily  that  justly  famed  mountain  stands  afar 
off,  a  white-crested  glory  seen  across  miles  of  gray 
roofs,  of  glistening  rice-fields  and  soft,  low  hills. 
And  too  often  it  is  hidden  away  for  weeks  on  end  in 
banks  of  cloud.  But  on  very  clear  days,  and  espe- 
cially in  winter,  it  seems  sometimes  to  come  very 
close  and  to  hover  in  the  foreground  of  one's  vision 
in  compelling  and  almost  overwhelming  majesty. 
Truly,  it  is  not  an  overrated  mountain. 

Lucky  for  you,  if  you  like  Japan,  that  you  leave 
Japan  on  such  a  day.  Because  if  Fuji  does  not  lift 
her  head  out  of  the  clouds  long  enough  at  least  to 
speed  you  on  your  way  you  will  never  return. 
Which  is  a  thing  to  be  believed. 

And  I  believed  it.  I  have  believed  it  for  many 
years.  Time  and  again  I  have  sailed  away  from 
Yokohama,  and  always,  without  fail,  shining  Fuji 
has  shone  for  me.  And  always  I  have  said: 

"Yes,  of  course  I  shall  return!" 

For  the  thirteenth  time  I  landed  within  the  far- 
flung  circle  of  Fuji's  radiance.  It  was  my  thirteenth 
time  in  Japan;  it  was  thirteen  years  almost  to 
the  day  since  I  landed  the  first  time;  Japan  was 
the  thirteenth  Allied  country  I  had  visited  since 
the  war  began;  and  it  was  the  thirteenth  day  of  the 
month! 

Yet  I  was  on  my  way  with  a  fixed  intention  of 
doing  a  thing  I  knew  could  not  be  done. 

/  was  going  to  Baghdad! 

I  had  mentioned  to  nobody  the  fact  that  I  was 
going  to  Baghdad,  because  I  dreaded  the  necessity 
for  having  afterward  to  explain  why  I  didn't  do  it. 

I  said  I  was  going  out  East  and  I  intimated  that  I 

s 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

might  go  to  India.  But  even  about  that  there  was 
some  doubt,  since  India  also  was  closed  to  visitors 
on  account  of  certain  war-time  dangers  that  a  too 
lax  hospitality  might  serve  to  increase. 

In  order,  however,  that  there  may  be  no  mystery 
with  regard  to  my  methods  of  procedure,  I  beg  to 
acknowledge  now  my  debt  of  gratitude  to  the  late 
Sir  Cecil  Spring-Rice,  then  British  ambassador  at 
Washington,  a  friend  who  believed  I  was  to  be 
trusted  within  war-restricted  areas. 

His  Excellency  provided  me  with  a  special  British 
passport  and,  in  my  behalf,  sent  letters  or  cable- 
grams to  most  of  His  Majesty's  ambassadors  and 
colonial  governors  from  Tokio  to  Bombay.  And, 
needless  to  say,  all  His  Majesty's  representatives — 
Sir  Conyingham  Greene,  ambassador  to  Tokio;  Sir 
Henry  May,  governor  of  Hongkong;  Sir  Arthur 
Young,  governor  of  Singapore;  and  Lord  Willing- 
don,  governor  of  Bombay — treated  me  with  the  dis- 
tinguished courtesy  and  consideration  that  one  ac- 
cepts from  British  gentlemen  as  one  accepts  any 
other  wholly  natural  manifestation  of  the  nature  of 
things.  It  is  due  that  at  the  outset  I  record  the  fact 
of  my  absolute  reliance  upon  their  kindness  and  con- 
fidence and  my  profound  gratitude  to  them. 

After  a  ten  days'  interval  of  almost  iniquitous 
ease  on  a  great  Japanese  liner  I  landed  at  Manila, 
and  there  I  transshipped  for  Hongkong  to  an  Aus- 
tralian freighter  which  was  misleadingly  advertised 
as  providing  "passenger  accommodations."  But  it 
was  quite  all  right.  The  dear  old  tub  crossed  the 
unmannerly  China  Sea  in  the  wake  of  the  worst 
typhoon  of  the  season  at  the  dizzying  pace  of  at 


THE  LONGEST  WAY  ROUND 

least  six  knots  an  hour,  and  she  was  not  more  than 
two  days  late  when  she  came  up  in  the  lee  of  that 
islanded  wonder-world  off  the  Chinese  coast — Hong- 
kong— the  terminal  port  in  the  Far  East  for  all 
transpacific  shipping. 

I  remember  a  time  when  one  could  go  to  Hong- 
kong without  troubling  to  look  up  ship  schedules 
and  be  perfectly  certain  of  getting  away  in  almost 
any  direction  within  a  day  or  two  at  most. 

Did  one  want  to  go  to  the  United  States?  Very 
well,  there  was  a  possibility  of  connecting  two  or 
three  times  a  week  with  some  big  eighteen-  or 
twenty-thousand-ton  ship  for  San  Francisco,  Seat- 
tle, or  Vancouver.  To  India,  or  to  Europe  via  the 
Suez  Canal?  One  had  a  choice  which  made  earnest 
competition  for  one's  patronage  necessary  to  a  dozen 
companies.  There  were  British  ships  and  Ameri- 
can ships  and  French  ships  and  Italian  ships  and 
Spanish  ships  and  Dutch  ships  and  Japanese  ships, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  Austrian  Lloyd  ships  to 
Trieste.  There  were  even  Norwegians  and  Danes. 
But  above  all  there  were  Germans,  the  Nord- 
deutscher  Lloyd  and  the  Hamburg-Amerika  com- 
panies owning  some  of  the  best  ships  that  sailed 
the  Eastern  seas  and  enjoying  a  patronage  that  no 
German  of  any  generation  now  living  will  ever  see 
re-established. 

But  what  a  difference  now!  The  elimination  of 
the  German  and  Austrian  ships  alone  would  have 
been  enough,  but  most  of  the  British  and  French 
ships,  too,  have  been  withdrawn  for  service  else- 
where. There  are  no  longer  any  Italians  or  Danes 
or  Norwegians,  while  the  Dutch,  being  restricted  on 

the  Suez  Canal  route  and  dreading  the  perils  of  the 

2  5 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

Mediterranean  and  the  Atlantic,  are  sending  their 
ships  across  the  Pacific.  It  is  difficult  to  believe 
that  the  Eastern  seas  could  be  so  emptied. 

According  to  the  original  sailing  directions  which  I 
issued  to  myself  I  was  to  have  left  Hongkong  on  a 
French  liner  of  considerable  tonnage  and  luxury  of 
equipment.  But  the  Germans  sank  her  in  the 
Mediterranean  on  her  way  out  to  the  East,  so  I  had 
to  change  my  plans.  This  involved  angling  in  the 
still  waters  of  official  reticence  for  information  as  to 
further  possibilities,  and  it  took  time. 

The  information  that  there  would  be  a  Britisher 
along  in  about  two  weeks  was  given  to  me  in  great 
confidence,  and  I  was  expected  to  pretend  in  a  gen- 
eral kind  of  way  that  I  had  no  idea  when  or  how  I 
was  ever  to  get  out  of  Hongkong  in  the  direction  I 
wished  to  go.  The  British  ship  would  go  to  Singa- 
pore, they  told  me,  and  from  there  to  Colombo  and 
Bombay.  Which  was  quite  satisfactory,  as  far  as  I 
was  concerned.  And  I  could  have  a  cabin  to  Bom- 
bay for  the  small  price  of  a  suite  de  luxe  on  a  gold- 
plated  Aquitania.  All  right.  I  wanted  to  get  to 
Bombay  more  than  I  wanted  to  do  anything  else  in 
the  world  at  the  moment,  and  I  did  not  object  to 
going  all  the  way  by  sea  instead  of  parboiling  myself 
on  an  Indian  train  from  Madras  or  Calcutta  at  the 
height  of  India's  hot  season. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   SHORTEST   WAY   THERE 

may  put  that  in  your  pipe  and  smoke  it!" 
is  what  the  doctor  finally  said.  Whereupon 
the  embarrassed  little  party  on  deck  broke  up  and 
went  its  various  ways.  I  leaned  against  the  forward 
rail  and  looked  thoughtfully  out  to  sea.  It  had  been 
a  rather  unpleasant  little  scene. 

In  view  of  the  fact  that  he  had  such  a  story  up 
his  sleeve,  the  doctor  had  listened  to  the  groans  of 
the  neutral  with  admirable  self-restraint.  Up  to  a 
certain  point.  And  if  the  neutral  had  not  forgotten 
that  in  British  circles  a  neutral  is  expected  to  be  at 
least  neutral,  if  not  pro-Ally,  the  subject  of  mines 
and  mining  might  never  have  been  mentioned  at 
all.  The  doctor  felt  like  being  rude  all  the  time,  no 
doubt,  but  he  assured  me  afterward  that  he  knew 
his  duty  as  a  ship's  officer  and  would  have  let  the 
"bally  idiot"  alone  if  the  bally  idiot  had  not  "lit 
into  the  English"  the  way  he  did. 

He  was  complaining  bitterly  about  the  difficulties 
and  inconveniences  under  which  all  neutrals  have 
to  labor,  and  he  freely  blamed  the  British.  He  went 
further  than  he  really  should  with  regard  to  British 
blockading  methods  in  general,  and  when  he  came 
to  restrictions  on  neutral  shipping  through  the  Suez 

7 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OP  THE  WORLD 

Canal  he  was  anything  but  guarded  in  his  language. 
Then  the  doctor  spoke  up: 

"If  I  had  my  way,"  he  said,  "there  are  some 
kinds  of  ships  that  would  never  be  allowed  in  the 
Suez  Canal  under  any  circumstances.  I  may  be 
prejudiced,  but  I  just  happened  not  long  ago  to  be 
an  eye-witness  of  an  attempt  to  blow  the  canal  up — 
along  with  some  three  thousand  British  troops — 
and  it  made  me  rather  cautious  in  my  opinion  of  all 
neutrals. 

"Unfair!"  he  added,  "unfair,  of  course!  But  you 
will  admit  that  it  is  somewhat  natural." 

The  passenger  was  a  nice  kind  of  person  hi  spite 
of  his  lack  of  judgment  as  to  topics  of  conversation. 
And  it  was  not  to  be  supposed  that  he  personally 
had  ever  tried  to  blow  anything  up,  or  that  he  had 
guilty  knowledge  in  any  such  connection.  But  the 
doctor  was  speaking  of  his  countrymen,  and  his 
face  flushed  the  color  of  his  red,  red  hair. 

"It  isn't  true!"  he  exclaimed. 

"I  said  eye-witness,"  the  doctor  murmured. 

"Then  you  were  mistaken!" 

"Possibly.  But  I  afterward  gave  evidence  which 
helped  to  get  for  your  skipper  exactly  what  was 
coming  to  him.  They  stood  him  up  against  a  wall 
and  shot  him — and  if  I  had  been  pronouncing 
sentence  he'd  have  had  his  whole  crew  to  bear  him 
company.  But  he  was  dealing  with  the  weak- 
minded  British,  you  see,  so  he  was  the  only  one  who 
had  to  suffer." 

Then  he  told  the  story,  and  we  all  listened. 

"I  was  senior  medical  officer  in  charge  of  a  trans- 
port," he  said,  "and  we  were  bringing  three  thou- 
sand men  out  to  Mesopotamia.  We  got  round  from 


THE  SHORTEST  WAY  THERE 

London  and  through  the  Mediterranean  all  right, 
and  we  brought  up  at  Port  Said  one  morning,  feeling 
mightily  relieved.  We  thought  the  danger  was  all 
over.  I  noticed  the  neutral  ship  principally  because 
when  you  are  partly  responsible  for  the  safety  of 
three  thousand-odd  men  these  days  you  get  so  you 
notice  everything. 

"She  was  lying  just  ahead  of  where  we  dropped 
anchor,  and  I  probably  should  have  thought  nothing 
in  particular  about  her  if  some  one  hadn't  told  me 
that  she  had  been  there  three  or  four  days.  Then 
I  wanted  to  know  why  she  had  not  gone  on,  and 
nobody  seemed  to  know.  Big  troop-ships  are  big 
game — and  legitimate  game,  too,  but  not  for  neu- 
trals— and  on  board  a  troop-ship  you  come  to  a 
point  where  you  sniff  at  your  own  shadow.  I  don't 
mind  telling  you  that  I  sniffed  at  her,  and  it  was 
rather  a  feather  in  my  cap  afterward  that  I  did,  too, 
because  nobody  else  had  the  slightest  suspicion 
about  her. 

"In  some  way  or  other  she  got  out  just  ahead  of 
us  and  we  followed  her  at  a  distance  of  less  than  half 
a  mile.  If  we  had  been  much  farther  behind  her 
it  would  have  been  a  different  story  and  I  might 
not  be  here  to  tell  it. 

"I  don't  want  to  pretend  that  I  was  so  suspicious 
that  I  set  myself  to  watch  her.  My  suspicions  and 
my  watchfulness  were  both  purely  casual.  But  I 
just  happened  to  be  on  the  bridge,  looking  forward 
through  the  channel,  and  I  saw  what  happened  as 
plainly  as  I  see  you  now.  Something  was  lowered 
over  her  stern. 

"We  signaled  her  to  stop,  which  she  did,  and 
everything  behind  us  stopped.  Then  the  canal 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

patrol  came  down  and  got  the  thing.  It  was  a 
mine,  right  enough,  and  if  we  had  struck  it  it  would 
've  blown  us  to  Kingdom  Come  and  blocked  the 
canal  for  no  telling  how  long. 

"If  the  skipper  hadn't  waited  at  Port  Said  for  a 
trooper  he  might  have  succeeded  in  sinking  some- 
thing else  and  accomplishing  his  main  purpose — 
which  was  to  block  the  canal,  of  course.  He  didn't 
need  a  twenty-thousand  tonner  loaded  with  human 
freight  to  do  that.  But  it  seems  he  was  greedy. 
And  now  with  all  our  vigilance  in  the  canal  zone 
the  approaches  to  Colombo  and  Bombay  are  regu- 
larly mined  by  some  one,  and  we  know  mighty  well 
it's  not  the  Huns!" 

It  was  then  that  he  muttered,  "You  may  put  that 
in  your  pipe  and  smoke  it!"  The  while  he  skilfully 
shielded  a  match  from  the  wind  as  he  applied  it  to 
his  own  burnt  and  blackened  brier. 

Our  ship  was  a  curious  old  relic  of  somebody's 
marine  scrap-heap,  and  I  climbed  her  gangway  with 
all  my  natural  fondness  for  luxurious  surroundings 
carefully  stowed  away  in  the  depths  of  my  inner 
consciousness.  But  she  was  the  best  Britisher  left 
on  the  run  down  the  coast  of  Asia,  so  I  was  not  just 
being  conversationally  agreeable  when  I  told  the 
captain  the  first  day  out  that  I  was  glad  to  be 
aboard.  I  really  was;  and,  though  I  knew  that  only 
a  short  time  before  a  ship  had  been  sunk  in  the 
Bay  of  Bengal,  I  felt  a  sense  of  perfect  security 
which  was  proof  against  even  the  doctor's  disquiet- 
ing story. 

Subsequent  life-belt  drills,  the  sight  of  out-swing- 
ing life-boats,  loosened  rafts,  and  rope  ladders  sus- 

10 


THE  SHORTEST  WAY  THERE 

pended  from  the  deck  rails  may  have  given  me  a 
few  inward  qualms,  but  good  ship  manners  forbid 
even  a  reference  to  a  feeling  of  nervousness  these 
days.  We  laughed  at  the  intricacies  of  our  life- 
preservers  and  made  a  kind  of  bugaboo  play  out  of 
all  the  grim  preparations  for  an  emergency.  The  old 
battle-gray  merchantman  was  not  steering  a  straight 
course  for  the  port  I  wanted  to  make,  but  she  was 
headed  in  the  right  general  direction,  and  when  it 
comes  to  sea-voyaging  the  character  of  Hun  war 
has  made  that  about  as  much  as  any  one  has  reason 
to  expect. 

The  evening  before  we  reached  Singapore  an 
Australian  who  "traveled  for  a  patent  sun-deflecting 
roof  material " — in  his  own  briefly  explanatory  lan- 
guage— and  who  filled  all  the  intervals  of  his  daily 
existence  with  picturesque  invective  against  a  pack 
of  unfit  officials  who  had  refused  to  accept  him  in 
any  capacity  for -service  at  the  front,  held  forth  to  a 
group  of  passengers,  who  had  nothing  better  to  do 
than  to  listen  to  him,  about  "some  of  the  purtiest 
islands  in  the  world"  which  lie  north  from  Singa- 
pore and  through  which  a  ship  must  "thread  its 
way  "  into  the  harbor.  He  was  going  to  be  up  early 
next  morning  for  a  view  of  them,  because  nobody 
could  see  them  too  often. 

"And,"  thought  I  to  myself,  "I,  too,  will  do  that 
highly  commendable  thing." 

It  is  my  opinion  that  a  lazy  attitude  toward  such 
things  results  for  a  traveler  in  the  kind  of  fatigue 
that  no  traveler  should  ever  feel.  In  the  wide 
round  of  the  world's  wonders  to  be  bored  is  to 

reveal  one's  own  shameful  limitations. 

ll 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

So  at  the  bewitching  hour  of  about  half  past  five 
I  shook  myself  out  of  a  sound  sleep  that  I  might 
see  "the  rose  light  of  an  equatorial  sunrise  bath- 
ing palm  islands  afloat  on  the  surface  of  a  silver 
sea!" 

I  learned  afterward  that  the  Australian  had  never 
been  there  before  and  that  all  the  time  he  was  quot- 
ing a  lot  of  "fine  writing"  he  had  found  in  a  Singa- 
pore "boost-book"  filled  with  advertisements  of 
real  estate  and  rubber-plantations.  As  for  "thread- 
ing," there  was  never  an  island  less  than  a  mile 
away,  and  when  one  showed  itself  at  all  it  was  noth- 
ing but  an  indistinct  mass  in  a  white  equatorial 
haze.  Incidentally,  when  the  rose  light  of  sunrise 
began  to  get  in  its  morning's  work  it  melted  the 
calking  in  the  seams  of  the  decks. 

It  was  late  in  the  day  before  the  southern  hori- 
zon— a  long,  flat,  purple  line — began  to  approach 
us;  then  we  knew  we  were  getting  into  Singapore. 
Ordinarily  it  is  about  a  four  days'  run  from  Hong- 
kong, and,  it  being  only  our  eighth  day  out,  we 
thought  we  were  doing  very  well  indeed. 

I  asked  the  captain  all  kinds  of  questions.  One 
is  not  supposed  to  do  this,  but  one  does.  In  any 
case,  thinking  up  reasonable  answers  keeps  a  cap- 
tain's mind  active;  and  in  trying  not  to  show  how 
annoyed  he  is  he  gets  exercise  in  self-control. 

I  wanted  to  know  all  about  the  uprising  in  Singa- 
pore— how  many  were  involved  in  it;  how  many 
were  killed;  how  many  were  subsequently  shot  or 
hanged;  what  influence  brought  it  about;  how 
much  German  money  it  cost;  whether  Washington 

was  headquarters  and  Bernstorff  head  paymaster; 

12 


THE  SHORTEST  WAY  THERE 

and  whether  any  German  agents  had  been  caught 
in  connection  with  it.  But  nobody  knows  any  of 
these  things.  Least  of  all,  sea-captains. 

There  was  an  insurrection.  Everybody  knows 
that,  murderous  gun-shots  having  a  way  of  rever- 
berating round  the  world  even  in  war-time.  The 
British  troops  of  the  Singapore  garrison  had  been 
withdrawn  for  service  in  France  or  Gallipoli  or 
Mesopotamia  or  East  Africa,  and  only  native 
troops — in  whom  the  Britons  had  the  fullest  confi- 
dence— were  left  to  guard  the  colony.  It  was  along 
late  in  the  afternoon  and  nearly  everybody  was  at 
the  Country  Club.  People  were  playing  golf  or 
tennis,  or  were  sitting  round  in  white  flannels  and 
frilly  frocks,  having  tea,  when  suddenly  the  finely 
armed  and  fully  equipped  native  soldiers  broke  from 
their  barracks,  or  from  wherever  they  were,  and 
started  in  to  murder  every  white  man,  woman,  and 
child  in  the  community.  That  seems  to  have  been 
the  program. 

Just  how  it  was  stopped  I  do  not  know;  as  all 
such  things  are  stopped,  I  suppose — by  quick  action 
guided  by  superior  intelligence.  There  was  after- 
ward another  kind  of  shooting,  with  human  targets 
in  squads  of  so  many.  And  that  we  know.  And 
we  know  we  feel  great  pity  for  the  poor  misguided 
offenders.  But  if  one  is  told  the  number  of  those 
who  paid  the  penalty  for  armed  treason — which 
proposed  to  express  itself  in  wholesale  murder — one 
is  told  also  that  this  is  no  time  to  write  detailed  and 
definite  history.  So  let  nobody  in  future  regard 
this  reference  as  reliable  information.  Regard  it 
rather  as  a  kind  of  camouflage  background  for  a 
reference  to  the  compulsory-service  act  which  was 

13 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

immediately  passed  by  the  Singapore  government, 
and  which  applies  to  every  man  in  the  colony  who 
is  able  to  hold  a  gun  and  see  a  target. 

A  number  of  these  men  took  a  hand  in  the  job  of 
putting  down  the  uprising,  but  it  is  recorded  with 
a  good  deal  of  derision  that  not  one  of  them  ever 
hit  anything  he  aimed  at,  so  now  they  all  have  to 
spend  a  certain  number  of  hours  each  week  in 
military  drill  and  gun  practice.  They  wear  smart 
uniforms,  pride  themselves  on  their  mature  ef- 
ficiency, and  are  altogether  keen  about  themselves 
as  a  home-guard.  They  are  to  be  seen  in  com- 
panies almost  any  afternoon,  not  at  their  accus- 
tomed golf,  but  at  grilling  drill  on  the  hot  rifle- 
ranges  out  on  the  hills  behind  the  city. 

But  that  is  getting  rather  ahead  of  myself. 
However,  I  may  as  well  go  directly  on,  though  I  do 
rather  regret  slipping  so  smoothly  in  the  telling  of  it 
through  the  tedious  hours  of  medical  and  passport 
examination  at  Singapore,  and  the  slow  process  of 
being  nosed  by  puffing  and  hot-smoke-belching  tugs 
up  against  a  long  dock  which  lay  blistering  in  the 
sun.  It  was  "equatorial,"  right  enough.  One  gets 
tired  of  that  word  in  these  regions,  but  there  is  no 
escaping  it.  It  would  be  as  easy  to  escape  the  word 
"cold"  up  at  the  undefined  and  fade-away -into- 
nothing  end  of  Greenland.  On  the  map  it  is  only 
the  distance  of  a  pin-head's  width  from  Singapore  to 
the  equator.  In  reality  it  is  about  forty  miles. 

I  saw  all  the  passengers  go  ashore  and  watched 
an  exuberant  American  woman  hurl  herself  vio- 
lently into  the  arms  of  a  handsome  British  army 
officer  before  I  did  anything  else.  The  British  army 

14 


THE  SHORTEST  WAY  THERE 

officer  was  her  husband,  of  course.  Then  I  decided 
to  go  up-town. 

Singapore  has  been  British  for  a  very  long  time. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  they  will  have  to  "do  something 
about  it"  at  once.  On  the  29th  of  January,  1919, 
it  will  be  just  one  hundred  years  old.  On  that  date, 
in  1819,  Sir  Stamford  Raffles,  who  had  been  sent 
on  a  voyage  of  discovery  looking  to  the  acquirement 
of  a  British  port  somewhere  in  this  vicinity,  landed 
on  the  then  practically  uninhabited  island  and 
hoisted  the  British  flag. 

The  principal  thing  he  discovered — aside  from 
the  magnificence  of  the  harbor — was  that  the  Dutch 
had  not  nabbed  it,  which  was  then,  and  is  now,  a 
thing  to  wonder  at.  Though  it  seems  they  were  un- 
der an  impression  that  they  had.  The  island  was 
among  the  useless  and  wholly  neglected  territories 
of  the  Sultan  of  Johore,  one  Abdul  Rahman,  and 
the  Sultan  of  Johore  was  a  mere  figurehead  up- 
holder of  the  supremacy  of  the  Dutch  and  was  sup- 
ported by  them  in  a  way  that  would  have  made  any 
defection  on  his  part  fatal  to  his  own  interests. 
And  at  once  they  said  to  him: 

"Of  course  our  treaties  with  Your  Highness  cover 
the  island  of  Singapura?" 

And  His  Highness  replied,  "Why,  certainly  they 
do!" 

But  there  was  a  Datto  of  Johore — a  lesser  high- 
ness— whose  name  was  Temenggong,  and  Temeng- 
gong  hated  the  Dutch.  Some  persons  might  write 
that  he  liked  and  admired  the  English,  and  that, 
therefore —  But  he  didn't.  He  merely  hated  the 
Dutch.  So  he  came  to  Raffles  and  told  him  that 
Abdul  Rahman  was  a  usurper;  that  he  was  a 

15 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

younger  brother  and  had  no  right  to  the  throne; 
and  that  the  elder  brother  and  rightful  heir,  whose 
name  was  Tunku  Hussein,  was  over  in  Riau  and 
powerless  to  assert  his  rights. 

"Is  that  so?"  said  Raffles.  "Well,  you  go  right 
along  over  and  get  him !  We're  friends  of  his." 

And  Temenggong  did  it.  Whereupon  Tunku 
Hussein  was  duly  and  solemnly  proclaimed  Sultan 
of  Johore — without  reference  to  the  opposition 
camp — and  a  treaty  was  immediately  negotiated 
which  gave  the  Englishmen  rights  of  residence  on 
the  island.  That  was  all.  Raffles  may  have  had 
visions  of  eventual  British  sovereignty  in  Singapore 
— then  a  city  of  dreams  in  nobody's  mind  but  his 
own — but  at  the  moment  he  was  asking  for  nothing 
but  the  privilege  of  establishing  a  trading  station 
and  a  kind  of  half-way  port  between  India  and  the 
Chinese  coast. 

The  definite  occupation  of  the  island  by  the 
British  did  not  occur  until  1824,  and  by  that  time 
it  was  a  growing  concern,  wholly  British  in  charac- 
ter, with  a  dozen  or  more  European  business  firms 
solidly  established,  and  with  a  population  of  more 
than  ten  thousand.  There  were  as  many  as  eight 
thousand  Chinese  on  the  island  as  early  as  1826, 
and  they  have  since  continued  to  maintain  their 
majority,  attracted,  no  doubt,  by  the  opportunities 
offered  for  trade  and  all  kinds  of  enterprises  within 
the  security  of  British  law.  The  city  now  has  a 
population  of  about  three  hundred  and  twenty-five 
thousand. 

In  Singapore  one  is  impressed  by  the  fact  that  a 
very  large  number  of  the  men  who  look  like  leading 
citizens  are  Chinese.  There  are  more  handsome 

16 


THE  SHORTEST  WAY  THERE 

and  high-class  Chinese  in  evidence  than  anywhere 
else  I  know  of  except  Peking.  In  Singapore  they 
are  seen  riding  about  in  fine  motor-cars,  attending 
to  business  in  splendidly  equipped  offices;  running 
banks,  factories,  large  shipping  concerns,  import 
and  export  houses,  and  every  other  kind  of  enter- 
prise that  would  help  to  make  up  the  sum  of  a  city's 
commerce  and  trade.  Moreover,  they  are  the 
owners  of  a  majority  of  the  big  rubber-plantations 
and  tin-mines  throughout  British  Malaya.  They 
are  represented  on  the  colonial  councils,  have  a 
large  share  in  all  municipal  governments,  and  are 
regarded  by  the  British  as  citizens  of  the  highest 
value.  They  are  altogether  an  interesting  evidence 
of  what  the  Chinese  are  capable  of  being  under  de- 
cent and  honest  government. 

The  British  have  made  Singapore  a  fine  and 
rather  beautiful  city.  There  are  splendid  govern- 
ment buildings,  educational  institutions,  churches, 
business  houses,  clubs,  and  hotels;  the  parks  and 
open  green  spaces  are  many  and  magnificent;  the 
streets  and  tree-bordered  drives  are  well  metaled 
and  well  kept;  there  are  sea-walls  and  breakwaters 
and  piers,  and  everything  else,  in  fact,  that  is 
Occidental,  and  therefore  an  evidence  of  unsparing 
energy  and  far-sighted  ambition. 

The  English  colonials,  and  many  of  the  Chinese, 
also,  live  in  handsome  residences  and  picturesque 
bungalows  set  in  large  gardens  which  line  broad 
avenues  running  in  sweeping  curves  far  out  into  the 
country,  where  they  join  perfect  highways  over 
which  one  drives  to  see  the  hills — hills  rolling  into 
hills  and  stretching  away  for  miles  on  miles  to  meet 
the  wonderful  blue  arch  of  the  sea;  hills  planted 

17 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

in  neatly  set  rows  of  rubber-trees  which  run  down 
through  the  valleys  and  up  over  the  crests,  down 
into  the  valleys  again,  and  still  up  and  on  as  far 
as  one's  eye  can  reach,  that  being  one  of  the  most 
extraordinary  sights  on  earth!  And  one  wonders 
what  this  part  of  the  world  would  be  like  to-day  if 
it  had  not  been  for  pioneering,  energetic,  nonchalant, 
sporting,  indifferent,  high-minded,  more  or  less 
altruistic  and  altogether  wonderful  little  England! 

When  I  returned  to  the  ship  the  second  afternoon 
they  were  just  getting  ready  to  take  on  what  the 
captain  called  "queer  cargo."  It  was  lying  along- 
side in  a  number  of  great  flat  barges  and  consisted 
of  cranes  and  engines  of  immense  size  and  extraor- 
dinary awkwardness.  The  native  cargo-coolies  did 
not  know  how  to  handle  it,  and,  for  that  matter, 
neither  did  the  captain.  The  coolies  sat  in  rows  on 
the  barge  rails  and  regarded  it  with  woebegone  ex- 
pressions, while  the  captain  leaned  against  the  ship's 
rail  and  muttered  maledictions. 

"And  I'm  already  a  day  late!"  he  said. 

"Is  that  all?"  I  innocently  inquired. 

"Well,  this  is  not  the  Mauretania." 

"No,  I'd  noticed  that." 

"All  right,  chaff  if  you  feel  like  it,  but  if  I  have 
to  take  that  stuff  on  we'll  be  here  a  week.  And 
then  I've  got  to  go  off  to  a  bally  island  and  take  on 
a  cargo  of  oil." 

That  was  serious,  and  the  fact  that  I  only  then 
learned  about  it  goes  to  show  how  secret  and  well- 
guarded  sailing  directions  are.  By  that  time  the 
only  women  passengers  left  aboard  were  my  unim- 
portant self  and  the  always  smartly  garmented, 

18 


THE  SHORTEST  WAY  THERE 

languid,  and  caref ul-of -herself  wife  of  an  army  offi- 
cer who  was  bound  for  Bombay  with  a  fixed  inten- 
tion of  breaking  through  all  the  barbed  red-tape 
entanglements  that  lay  between  her  and  her  hus- 
band's station  at  Muskat. 

"And  where  is  the  bally  island?"  I  asked. 

"Oh,  off  sou'east.    It  isn't  even  on  our  course." 

"How  long  will  it  take  to  get  the  oil  aboard?" 

"About  twelve  to  fourteen  hours." 

"Well,  don't  mind  me.  I  knew  when  I  came 
aboard  that  I  was  not  starting  on  a  pleasure  trip. 
Are  there  any  more  delaying  surprises?" 

"There  are.  WTien  we  leave  the  oil  island  we  go 
to  Penang." 

"Oh,  we  do,  do  we?  And  at  such  a  rate,  when  are 
we  likely  to  get  to  Bombay?" 

"About  three  weeks  hence — if  we're  lucky." 

"Well,  come  on,"  said  I,  "let's  get  this  cargo 
aboard.  What  are  we  standing  round  like  this  for?" 

But  it  was  no  use.  The  question  was  where  to 
put  the  unwieldy  articles  even  after  an  apparatus 
had  been  rigged  up  to  handle  them.  I  offered  to 
let  him  put  one  of  the  cranes  in  my  cabin  with  the 
long  end  of  it  sticking  out  through  the  port-hole, 
but  he  only  growled  at  me.  Anyhow,  the  port-hole 
was  probably  not  large  enough.  It  was  a  very 
dinky  ship  as  ships  go.  But  I  will  say  for  it  that 
before  it  started  on  the  final  perilous  lap  through  the 
Mediterranean  and  on  round  to  London  it  had  a 
cargo  aboard  to  the  value  of  more  than  a  million 
pounds  sterling. 

I  could  write  a  volume  about  the  way  we  loaded 
up,  but  perhaps  I  had  better  not.  We  managed  it, 
at  any  rate,  and  I  assume  a  pronominal  share  in  it 

19 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

because  before  we  were  through  I  was  so  interested 
that  I  felt  as  though  I  carried  the  whole  tremendous 
responsibility  on  my  own  shoulders. 

We  finally  weighed  anchor  and  plodded  off  to 
the  oil  island.  Our  course  lay  through  a  close-set 
little  archipelago  which  brought  to  mind  all  the 
dreams  one  ever  dreamed  about  owning  an  island 
oneself.  I  should  like  to  own  an  island.  And  I 
should  want  it  to  have  long,  shining  white  beaches, 
a  mysterious-seeming  mangrove  swamp  at  one  end, 
and  fringes  of  tall,  wind-bent  palm-trees.  But  I 
think  I  should  want  it  to  rise  up  out  of  the  sea  for 
me  somewhere  in  the  vicinity  of  New  York  Harbor. 

The  oil  island  was  a  scar  on  the  dream  canvas, 
except  that  down  on  a  long  point  to  the  westward 
there  was  a  thick  grove  of  cocoanut-palms  with  all 
the  trees  at  the  water's  edge  leaning  toward  the 
sunset.  Otherwise  it  was  a  collection  of  unsightly 
tanks  set  in  gashes  cut  in  the  hillsides. 

We  groaned  our  way  up  against  an  expensive 
and  up-to-date-looking  concrete  dock,  and  they 
carried  a  four-inch  hose  through  a  hatch  and  at- 
tached it  to  a  tank  in  our  hold.  Then  they  began  to 
pump.  The  last  thing  I  remember  was  a  curious 
rhythmic  sound — a  combination  of  chug-chug  and 
gurgle-gurgle — which  went  on  far  into  the  night. 
I  know,  because  far  into  the  night  I  wandered  round 
the  ship,  trying  to  find  a  spot  where  the  temperature 
felt  like  something  less  than  one  hundred  and  ten. 
I  fell  asleep  in  a  deck  chair  as  I  was  wondering  what 
it  would  be  like  in  my  cabin. 

I  think  I  shall  have  to  pass  Penang  without  com- 
ment. Though,  come  to  think  of  it,  I  cannot.  It 

20 


THE  SHORTEST  WAY  THERE 

was  at  Penang  that  I  gave  up  ten  dollars  for  a 
pagoda.  It  would  be  better  to  pass  Colombo.  At 
Colombo  I  got  my  only  excitement  out  of  an 
insect. 

It  is  called  the  leaf-insect,  and  until  it  starts  to 
crawl  it  is  quite  impossible  to  tell  where  the  leaf 
leaves  off  and  it  begins.  It  comes  in  all  sizes  from 
three  inches  long  to  the  length  of  a  little-finger 
nail.  And  it  is  not  a  leaf  come  to  life,  though  that 
is  what  it  looks  like.  It  hatches  out  of  tiny,  square, 
brown  eggs.  What  would  be  the  leaf  stem  is  its 
backbone,  and  the  point  where  the  leaf  attaches 
to  the  twig  is  its  head.  Its  legs  look  like  bits  of 
decayed  and  ragged  leaf,  and  no  two  of  them  are 
identical  in  length,  size,  or  shape.  Its  wings  are 
irregular  and  veiny  and  have  small  discolorations  on 
them,  as  though  they  had  been  touched  by  early 
frost.  You  could  not  tell  the  creature  from  the 
leaf  it  was  sitting  on  to  save  your  eyes.  Most 
extraordinary  thing  I  ever  saw!  It  gave  me  the 
creeps  and  made  me  think  of  horror  stories  I  have 
read  about  vampire  orchids  and  boa-constrictor 
vines  that  yearn  for  human  blood. 

If  I  could  have  taken  my  eyes  off  the  thing  I 
might  have  seen  more  in  Colombo,  but  we  were 
there  only  long  enough  to  take  on  a  few  barge-loads 
of  tea,  and  the  only  other  thing  I  did  was  to  drive 
out  to  a  hotel  on  a  rocky  point  overlooking  a  storm- 
swept  bay  where  hundreds  of  catamarans  go  fishing 
and  scud  home  before  the  wind,  with  one  huge 
brown  sail  on  each  bellying  as  though  it  would  burst. 
You  sit  and  watch  them  with  a  thrill  in  your  blood 
as  they  fly  before  the  darkening  clouds  and  ride 
the  high  breakers  to  the  long  curving  beach.  And 
3  21 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

there  they  are  pulled  up  under  the  bending  cocoanut- 
palms,  to  be  secured  for  the  night.  You  sit  and 
watch  them  and  drink  Ceylon  tea,  while,  by  way  of 
variety  of  entertainment,  dozens  of  head-nodding, 
soft-spoken  crows  crowd  close  about  you  to  watch 
every  mouthful  of  toast  and  cake  that  you  eat  and 
to  beg  for  scraps  like  a  lot  of  pet  kittens. 

"Kaw-kaw?"  says  one,  very  gently. 

"No,  I  want  it  myself,"  says  you. 

"Kaw-kaw!"  not  so  gently. 

"Oh,  very  well!  You  may  have  a  bit  if  you  will 
take  it  out  of  my  fingers.  But,  careful  now!" 

And  as  you  bend  down  one  of  the  others  leaps  like 
a  flash  to  your  table  and  grabs  your  cream-puff. 
At  least  it  was  my  cream-puff  that  he  got;  then 
the  black  rascals  gathered  out  on  the  lawn  with  it, 
looked  at  me  out  of  the  corners  of  their  eyes,  and 
laughed ! 

The  knifelike  catamarans  with  their  great,  square, 
brown  sails  and  wide-curving  outriggers  scudded 
before  the  wind;  storm-clouds  rolled  black  across  a 
rose-shot  sunset  sky;  the  tall,  tortured  palm-trees 
lining  the  long  white  beach  lifted  their  heads  before 
the  wind  gusts  and  bowed  before  the  onrush  of  the 
foaming  breakers — and  the  friendly  crows  tilted 
their  heads  at  me  and  wondered  what  it  could  be 
in  their  familiar  surroundings  that  made  me  look 
so  enthralled. 

After  all,  that  was  not  much  to  see  in  Colombo, 
was  it?  But  it  took  time,  as  a  dream  takes  time. 
A  swift  hour,  perhaps,  and  life's  gallery  the  richer 
for  one  more  unforgetable  picture.  At  any  rate, 
when  I  come  to  it  I  shall  be  able  to  pass  Colombo 
without  comment. 

22 


THE  SHORTEST  WAY  THERE 

But  Penang.  At  Penang  I  gave  up  ten  dollars 
for  a  pagoda.  I  could  not  very  well  give  up  less, 
because  in  the  subscription-book  the  Buddhist 
handed  me  ten  dollars  was  the  smallest  recorded 
contribution.  There  were  many  sums  in  three 
figures  set  opposite  the  names  of  Christians,  but  the 
ones,  twos,  and  fives  must  have  been  rubbed  out  as 
fast  as  they  were  put  in. 

"We  are  trying  very  hard,"  said  the  Chinese 
monk,  "to  turn  the  thoughts  of  our  young  men 
back  to  religion.  The  youths  of  the  Buddhist  faith 
have  grown  worldly  beyond  belief,  and  they  almost 
never  come  to  the  temple  to  pray.  So  we  intend  to 
erect  a  magnificent  pagoda,  a  thing  of  beauty  and 
inspiration  that  they  cannot  escape.  Whenever 
their  eyes  rest  upon  it  their  thoughts  will  turn  in 
spite  of  themselves  to  the  gods.  It  will  be  only 
through  the  gracious  benevolence  of  our  friends  and 
visitors  that  we  shall  be  able  to  do  this." 

And  that  was  where  he  passed  me  the  book.  I 
looked  through  it  and  saw  all  the  big  figures.  There 
were  pages  of  them,  and  I  am  sure  he  had  collected 
thousands  upon  thousands  of  dollars.  I  hesitated 
a  moment,  but  I  finally  said : 

"Oh,  well — "  And  as  I  put  down  the  figure  ten 
and  made  a  dollar  mark  I  murmured  to  myself, 
"There  goes  a  neutralizer  for  every  mission-Sunday 
penny  of  my  entire  wasted  Christian  childhood!" 

It  was  in  the  monks'  refectory  attached  to  one  of 
the  largest  and  finest  Buddhist  temples  in  the  world. 
To  see  it  I  had  climbed  a  mountain-side,  up  hun- 
dreds of  moss-grown  steps  under  the  interlacing 
boughs  of  giant  deodars.  I  had  paused  at  the  pool 
of  the  sacred  turtles  and  had  bought  fresh,  cool, 

23 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

green  weeds  at  a  little  booth  on  its  edge  to  feed  to 
the  monstrous,  slow-moving  creatures.  Then  I  had 
climbed  more  steps  to  come  to  the  brink  of  the 
basin  of  the  sacred  carp.  There  I  bought  small 
sweet  cakes  and  crumbled  them  on  the  scummy 
surface  for  the  sake  of  seeing  fins  flash  and  fish 
tails  whisked  in  the  air.  More  steps  and  more — 
on  up  the  templed  mountain-side;  past  rich,  red, 
uptilted  roof -lines  among  the  tree-tops;  through 
red-lacquered  and  tinsel-hung  interiors  shelter- 
ing great  Buddhas  asleep  and  great  Buddhas 
awake  and  innumerable  small  Buddhas  passing 
through  the  agonizing  stages  of  life  unto  life 
unto — nothingness ! 

And  then  the  monk  got  me.  A  monk  upon 
whom  hung  long,  white,  softly  falling  robes.  He 
was  a  Chinese  who  spoke  almost  faultless  English, 
who  was  handsome  in  an  altogether  Western  sense, 
and  who  had  the  manners  of  a  chamberlain  of  the 
Court  of  St.  James's. 

"It  will  be  only  through  the  gracious  benevolence 
of  our  friends  and  visitors  that  we  shall  be  able 
to  do  this,'*  he  said. 

To  build  a  pagoda!  To  turn  the  thoughts  of 
Buddhist  youth  back  to  the  gods!  And  down  in 
the  town,  as  I  was  driving  along  toward  the  jetty, 
I  passed  a  fine  modern  building  which  had  chiseled 
in  the  stone  above  its  wide  entrance: 
YOUNG  MEN'S  BUDDHIST  ASSOCIATION 

Flattery  in  its  sincerest  form! 

Penang  is  an  island  on  one  side  of  a  narrow  strait, 
and  a  concession  of  about  two  hundred  and  eighty 
square  miles  on  the  other.  It  is  the  oldest  British 

24 


THE  SHORTEST  WAY  THERE 

settlement  in  the  Straits  of  Malacca,  predating 
Singapore  by  twenty-three  years,  and  it  was 
founded  by  Francis  Light,  father  of  William  Light 
who  founded  Adelaide,  Australia,  and  whose  por- 
trait hangs  in  the  National  Gallery  in  London. 
There  is  a  reproduction  of  the  portrait  in  a  stupid 
big  "boost-book"  I  found  in  the  ship's  little  library; 
and  a  wild-eyed,  rumple-haired  man  son  William 
was!  His  mother  was  Malayan. 

Penang  has  a  population  of  about  twelve  hundred 
Europeans — British,  mostly — and  more  than  one 
hundred  and  eighty  thousand  Asiatics,  a  very  large 
percentage  of  the  Asiatic  population  being  Chinese. 
The  Chinese  are  the  rich  men.  They  own  prac- 
tically all  the  great  cocoanut-plantations  through 
which  one  must  drive  to  reach  any  point  on  the 
island  or  on  the  mainland  opposite,  and,  while 
England  maintains  law  and  order,  it  is  they  who 
export  much  of  the  tin,  rubber,  coffee,  spices, 
tapioca,  copra,  sago,  and  other  products  which  con- 
stitute the  wealth  of  the  Settlement. 

It  was  between  Penang  and  Colombo  that  Bar- 
retto  first  began  to  worry  about  my  life-preserver. 
He  came  into  my  cabin  one  day  and  took  it  down 
out  of  its  rack  over  my  berth,  and,  carefully  placing 
it  where  it  would  take  up  the  most  room  and  be 
most  in  the  way,  said,  solemnly,  "I  think  more 
better  you  keep  close  by  now."  And  after  that  he 
would  have  followed  me  around  with  it  if  I  had 
encouraged  him. 

Barretto  was  my  cabin  steward.  He  was  what  is 
known  in  this  part  of  the  world  as  a  "Goa  boy." 
That  is,  he  was  a  mixture  of  Indian  and  Portuguese 

25 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

and  came  from  the  little  Portuguese  colony  of  Goa, 
which  supplies  nearly  all  ship  and  hotel  servants, 
for  the  reason  that,  being  neither  fish,  flesh,  fowl, 
nor  good  red  herring — or,  in  other  words,  having  no 
caste  to  lose — they  are  able  to  handle  any  kind  of 
food  or  do  any  kind  of  work  without  polluting 
themselves.  They  are  supposed  to  be  Christians. 

Barretto  had  adopted  me  after  the  manner  of  the 
"dog  that  adopted  a  man.*'  He  was  forever  at  my 
heels,  offering  lip  solicitude  and  trying  to  square 
himself.  This  all  came  about  through  my  having 
casually  remarked  to  the  chief  steward  that  I 
wished  the  creature  would  condescend  to  sweep  my 
cabin  at  least  once  a  week,  give  me  an  occasional 
drop  of  water  for  face-washing  purposes,  and  not 
act  as  though  he  expected  me  to  wear  out  a  bath- 
towel  before  I  could  get  a  fresh  one.  The  chief 
must  have  had  him  "up  on  the  mat,"  because  he 
came  into  my  cabin  one  day  when  I  was  busy  writ- 
ing and  dropped  on  his  knees  before  me.  I  was 
never  more  surprised  in  my  life.  He  put  his  little 
brown  hands  together  in  a  "now  I  lay  me"  fashion 
and  began  an  incoherent  recital  in  which  I  caught 
such  phrases  as  "Wife  and  chiFren,"  "L'il*  son — 
so  high,  "One  baby  dead,"  "Earn  Til'  money," 
"LiT  boy — so  high — oh,  memsahib!" 

"Rise,  little  black-and-tan  friend,"  said  I,  "and 
make  your  apologies  on  your  two  feet." 

He  would  not  understand  such  English,  of  course; 
otherwise  I  should  not  have  used  it.  But  he  saw 
that  I  did  not  laugh  and  he  must  have  thought  my 
smile  was  one  of  benign  sympathy.  In  any  case,  he 
adopted  me,  and  after  that  he  was  always  leaving 
brooms  and  dust-cloths  around  where  I  could  see 

26 


THE  SHORTEST  WAY  THERE 

for  myself  that  he  had  been  using  them.  And 
bath-towels!  From  Hongkong  to  Singapore  I  had 
only  one;  from  Singapore  to  Bombay  I  had  a  stack 
of  them  in  my  cabin  all  the  time,  and  always  osten- 
tatiously displayed  in  some  spot  from  which  I  had 
to  hurl  them  in  order  to  get  at  something  else. 

It  was  a  danger  zone  into  Colombo,  but  it  was  a 
far  more  dangerous  zone  into  Bombay.  Forty-odd 
mines  had  been  swept  up  within  a  certain  area 
round  the  port — and  the  doctor  had  told  us  they 
never  were  laid  by  the  Huns! — so  it  was  necessary 
that  every  ship  should  enter  through  a  defined  and 
carefully  guarded  channel. 

It  was  about  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  we 
came  up  to  the  point  indicated  in  our  sailing  direc- 
tions as  the  foot  of  the  lane  of  safety  for  us,  and 
there  we  joined  an  interesting  company  of  ships. 

One  of  them  was  on  fire — a  big  freighter  down 
from  the  Persian  Gulf.  A  ghastly  sight  she  was! 
Everything  above  her  hull  had  been  burned  away 
except  her  funnels,  and  she  was  belching  great  clouds 
of  smoke  and  occasional  long  licks  of  flame.  Her 
crew  and  some  passengers,  I  learned  afterward,  had 
taken  to  the  life-boats  and  had  been  picked  up  by 
the  big  ocean-going  tugs  that  had  come  in  response 
to  her  wireless  call.  These  tugs  now  had  her  in 
tow  and  the  intention  was  to  beach  her,  but  she 
had  a  fearful  list  and  looked  as  though  she  might 
capsize  at  any  moment.  Some  of  us  stood  by  the 
deck  rail  and  watched  her  intently  for  an  hour  or 
more,  thinking  we  were  going  to  see  her  sink. 
She  looked  as  though  she  could  hardly  be  worth 
beach  room  even  on  an  empty  beach. 

27 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

Then  there  was  a  troop-ship  from  East  Africa 
lying  off  our  port  bow,  filled  with  happy  men  in 
khaki  who  crowded  the  rails  and  shouted  across  at 
us;  and  a  short  distance  away  lay  a  big  hospital- 
ship  from  Mesopotamia.  A  half-dozen  small  cargo- 
carriers  and  a  full  oil-tanker,  all  low  in  the  water, 
were  up  ahead,  while  beyond  a  little  way  another 
tanker,  outward  bound  and  evidently  empty,  was 
speeding  along  in  defiance  of  mines  and  kicking 
her  propellers  in  the  air  as  though  she  were  having 
the  time  of  her  young  life.  The  tankers  were 
painted  black  and  vermilion,  the  hospital-ship  was 
in  the  white  and  red  of  the  Cross  of  Mercy,  the 
trooper  was  grotesquely  camouflaged,  and  every- 
thing else  was  battle  gray.  The  tropic  sun  was 
beating  eye-searing  sparks  from  a  shimmering  sea, 
and  all  round  hovered  a  wonderful  silence.  The 
scene  was  a  study  in  unbelievable  color. 

Then  down  came  the  little  black  mine-sweepers. 
They  were  very  efficient-looking  and  just  a  bit 
cocky  about  themselves. 

"Here,  you  chaps,  stand  about  now,  will  you!" 
they  seemed  to  say.  "Let  the  hospital-ship  go 
first.  Look  alive  there,  little  tanker!  What  d'ye 
think  you  are — royalty?  Move  over  to  starboard 
and  make  way.  That's  right!  Troops  next!  And 
now  you  dilapidated  old  merchantman" — this  to 
us — "move  along.  No  need  to  tell  you  to  keep 
your  speed  down.  You  couldn't  make  more  than 
six  knots  to  save  your  bloomin'  old  hull!  Be  off 
with  you,  all  of  you !  You've  got  a  clear  way  up  to 
the  docks  now,  thanks  to  us  as  risks  our  lives  for 
you!  If  it  wasn't  for  us  you'd  all  be  down  with 
Davy  Jones!" 

28 


THE  SHORTEST  WAY  THERE 

And  the  old  merchantman,  weighed  down  with 
cargo  worth  more  than  a  million  pounds  sterling, 
puffed  a  humble  response  from  her  big  bass  horn 
and  churned  slowly  away  in  the  wake  of  the  trooper 
— the  old  merchantman  that  would  go  on  from 
Bombay,  through  Suez,  across  the  Mediterranean, 
and  round  through  the  dangers  of  the  Atlantic  to 
London ! 

And  it  was  just  twenty-seven  days  since  we  left 
Hongkong ! 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  BOMBAY  SIDE  OF  THE  PUNKA 

IT  should  have  been  cool  in  Bombay.  It  was  not 
cool.  I  have  set  at  the  head  of  this  chapter  a 
phrase  which  is  supposed  to  mean  "cool,"  but  it 
is  a  phrase  which  must  have  been  invented  by  some 
one  in  a  moment  of  derisive  delirium  induced  by 
hot  atmospheric  pressure.  It  refers  to  the  side  of 
the  punka  opposite  the  ropes  where  the  strongest 
and  coolest  breeze  is  to  be  enjoyed,  but,  so  far  as 
my  experience  goes,  it  suggests  an  absolutely  false 
idea  of  the  Bombay  climate. 

It  is  said  that  the  cool  season  is  due  in  Bombay 
along  in  October.  And  this  may  be  true.  But  I 
can  testify  that  it  makes  its  way  in  very  cautiously 
and  that  in  its  earliest  efforts  it  likes  best  to  catch 
the  stranger  unawares  along  about  three  o'clock  in 
the  morning.  In  daytime  it  may  haunt  a  few  shady 
corners,  but  it  is  wholly  imperceptible  in  any  spot 
the  sun  touches. 

One's  attention  is  sometimes  called  to  curiously 
convincing  evidence  that  the  war  has  actually 
changed  the  climate  in  the  hitherto  temperate  re- 
gions of  the  earth,  but  India  is  too  far  from  the  guns 
to  get  the  benefit  of  any  atmospheric  disturbance 
they  may  create. 

30 


THE  BOMBAY  SIDE  OF  THE  PUNKA 

However,  while  the  physical  discomfort  of  the 
white  man  in  the  brown  man's  land  is  not  dimin- 
ished, he  thinks  less  about  it  than  he  formerly  did. 
Toil  and  worry  and  sustained  serious-mindedness 
have  taken  the  place  of  leisure  and  fascinating 
frivolity,  and  non-essentials  have  faded  for  most 
persons  into  the  unregarded  background  of  We. 
This  is  true  in  some  degree  all  over  India;  it  is 
especially  true  in  Bombay,  which  rose  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  war  to  pre-eminent  importance  as  the 
chief  base  of  the  war  zones  of  the  East. 

The  port  of  Bombay  is  the  front  door  of  India. 
Following  the  long  coast-line  round  the  tremendous 
peninsula,  one  discovers  no  side  doors  of  special 
consequence;  and  Madras  and  Calcutta  open  upon 
Asia  and  the  realms  of  the  Pacific.  That  is  why 
Bombay,  destined  to  become  the  first  city  of  India, 
developed  into  one  of  the  busiest  centers  of  activity 
on  earth  when  India  turned  to  face  a  European 
world  at  war  and  to  throw  her  weight  into  the  strug- 
gle for  the  Empire's  existence. 

On  the  way  round  from  Colombo  I  reread  some 
of  Mark  Twain's  impressions  of  Bombay  in  More 
Tramps  Abroad.  A  friend  in  Japan  gave  me  this 
old  treasure,  with  which  I  thought  I  was  entirely 
familiar,  and  I  had  a  delightful  browse  in  its  forever- 
green  pages.  It  was  a  great  mistake. 

Mark  Twain  had  what  he  himself  called  "an  un- 
regulated imagination."  In  an  instant  he  saw  Bom- 
bay as  "a  bewitching  place,  a  bewildering  place, 
an  enchanting  place — the  Arabian  Nights  come 
again!"  And  in  an  instant  he  saw  all  the  color  and 
dash  and  heard  all  the  wild  sounds  and  the  weird 

31 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

music  of  Oriental  life  which  others  must  search  for 
and,  having  found,  perhaps  may  never  recognize. 
As  a  preliminary  guide  he  serves  principally  to 
make  one  regret  one's  own  sobriety  of  soul. 

However,  after  we  had  crept  for  hours  up  through 
the  buoyed  channel  with  nothing  at  all  to  see  except 
a  dim,  far-away  coast-line,  I  did  get  a  vision  of 
Bombay.  Not  a  view;  a  vision.  It  had  been  a 
long,  weary,  slow-passing  day.  By  that  time  it  was 
late  afternoon  and  a  white  mist  that  was  lying  on 
the  sea  floated  up  round  the  base  of  the  city  like  a 
filmy  veil.  No  buildings  at  all  could  be  seen,  but 
rising  above  the  mist  were  many  gilded  domes, 
shining  white  minarets,  and  uneven  red  roof -lines, 
all  bathed  in  the  glow  from  a  great  flame-colored  sun 
that  hung  low  in  the  west.  It  was  rather  wonderful 
and  alluring. 

Then  we  steamed  up  and  dropped  anchor  in  a 
harbor  crowded  with  ships:  hospital-ships — I  never 
saw  so  many  hospital-ships  in  one  port! — battle- 
gray  freighters  and  fighters;  camouflaged  troopers; 
tankers  and  tubs;  tugs,  scows,  barges,  common  row- 
boats,  and  many  swift-scurrying  launches.  Where- 
upon the  doctors  and  passport  officials  came  aboard 
and  the  stewards  began  to  pile  the  luggage  on  the 
decks  preparatory  to  putting  it  ashore.  The  re- 
mainder of  the  day  was  taken  up  with  the  usual 
inspections  of  various  kinds. 

When  we  got  up  to  the  dock  it  was  black  dark 
and  pouring  rain,  but,  having  been  on  the  ship 
twenty-seven  days,  I  was  glad  to  go  ashore  under 
any  circumstances.  So  I  gathered  my  small  be- 
longings, gave  a  grand-looking  Indian  baggage-agent 
instructions  with  regard  to  the  rest,  passed  through 

32 


THE  BOMBAY  SIDE  OF  THE  PUNKA 

the  customs-house,  signed  my  declaration  of  nothing 
to  declare,  and  made  my  way  out  through  the  pud- 
dles and  the  downpour  to  a  rickety  gharri. 

"A  bewitching  place,  an  enchanting  place — the 
Arabian  Nights  come  again"?  No,  nothing  like 
that!  That  for  peace-times,  maybe,  and  for  the 
fortunate  few.  For  me  miles  of  low,  black  freight- 
sheds  peered  at  in  the  gloom  over  a  dripping,  leak- 
ing, clammy  rain-apron;  for  me  splattering  mud 
and  slush  and  steaming,  intolerable  heat;  for  me  a 
rattle  and  rumble  and  jolt  and  the  crack  of  a  wicked 
whip  over  the  flank  of  a  plodding  horse;  for  me 
disillusion  and  vague  depression  and  an  eventual 
whirl  up  under  the  grand  porte-cochere  of  a  wildly 
ornate  hotel,  the  outer  offices  of  which  were 
crowded  with  important-looking  Indians  in  gor- 
geous raiment  and  marvelous  turbans  and  English- 
men of  the  war  services — the  Englishmen  all  in 
uniform.  It  was  difficult  to  get  accommodation, 
but  eventually  they  took  me  in;  and  I  found  lights 
and  laughter  and  gaiety  and  a  feverish  kind  of  rush 
that  could  not  fail  to  lift  one's  spirits.  I  knew  I  was 
on  the  threshold  at  least  of  Mesopotamia! 

Later  I  stood  at  a  window  of  my  room  and  looked 
down  into  a  deep  court.  The  rain  was  falling  in 
gusts  and  flurries,  washing  the  wonderful  leaves  of 
giant  palms  that  swayed  and  rustled  in  the  wind. 
I  looked  out  across  bands  of  light  that  were  falling 
from  a  thousand  windows  and  balconies;  I  heard 
the  far-away  clatter  of  horses'  feet  and  the  honk  of 
the  horns  of  many  motors;  I  felt  considerably  like 
a  stray  cat  in  a  strange  wet  alley,  and  I  wanted  to 
make  lonesome-sounding  stray-cat  noises,  but  I 
thought  to  myself: 

33 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

"Well,  never  mind  to-day.  To-morrow  we  shall 
see." 

And  to-morrow  brought  a  telegram  which  said 
Their  Excellencies  would  be  pleased  to  have  me 
spend  the  week-end  with  them.  Just  that  and  noth- 
ing more.  It  was  indefinite  with  the  indefiniteness 
which  assumes  that  one  knows  all  that  needs  be 
known.  And  of  course  one  should  know  certain 
kinds  of  things,  but  one  doesn't  always.  And  I 
didn't  know  in  the  least  where  Their  Excellencies 
were  to  be  found.  The  telegraphed  invitation  did 
not  say.  The  telephone-book  and  Murray's  Guide 
both  had  Government  House  located  on  Malabar 
Hill,  Malabar  Hill  being  the  smart  residential  dis- 
trict of  Bombay.  But  my  physical  discomfort 
assured  me  that  no  Excellencies  worthy  of  being 
Excellencies  would  stay  in  Bombay  in  such  weather. 
I  thought  perhaps  my  telegram  of  acceptance — 
which  had  to  be  addressed  to  a  set  of  initials  and 
sent  out  into  space — would  be  answered  by  some 
aide-de-camp  or  other  who  would  know  that  a  per- 
fect stranger  should  be  told  how  and  where  to  pro- 
ceed. But,  no,  nothing  like  that. 

If  I  did  all  my  roaming  "  'mid  pleasures  and  pal- 
aces" and  Excellencies  and  governmental  grandeurs 
my  homing  instinct  might  have  guided  me,  but  I 
don't  mind  acknowledging  that  I  had  to  ask.  I 
waited  until  Friday  morning,  and  I  was  due  some 
time  Friday  afternoon  to  present  myself  before 
Their  Excellencies.  It  was  time  for  me  to  do  some- 
thing about  it,  and  to  save  myself  the  embarrass- 
ment of  displaying  my  disgraceful  ignorance  to  an 
Englishman  I  went  to  my  own  American  consul,  a 

34 


fine,  upstanding,  clean-cut,  business-like,  and  alto- 
gether satisfactory  gentleman. 

"I'm  in  trouble,"  I  began. 

With  a  look  of  patient  resignation  he  made  a 
typically  consular  gesture  which  said  as  plainly  as 
words:  "All  Americans  are  when  they  are  away 
from  home.  At  least  that's  the  only  kind  a  consul 
ever  meets!" 

And  I  didn't  clear  up  the  atmosphere  any  too 
hastily,  because  I  rather  enjoyed  it;  but  after  a  not 
much  more  than  merely  appreciable  pause  I  eased 
his  mind  by  revealing  the  nature  of  my  difficulties. 
After  which  I  was  a  citizen  in  good  standing. 

"You  go  to  Cook's  or  somewhere  and  get  a  ticket 
to  Poona,"  he  said.  "  Your  train  leaves  at  a  quarter 
to  three  and  it  gets  you  there  about  half  past  seven. 
You  can  depend  on  Government  House  to  do  the 
rest." 

It  was  then  half  past  twelve  and  it  was  a  Moham- 
medan holiday. 

I  would  emphasize  the  fact  that  when  a  Moham- 
medan or  a  Hindu  takes  a  holiday  he  takes  it.  No 
half-holidays  or  anything  like  that  for  him.  And 
all  his  holidays  that  are  really  holy  days  are  sacred 
to  him  as  no  day  was  ever  sacred  to  a  Christian. 
The  Mohammedans  in  Bombay  have  a  monopoly 
of  the  chauffeur  and  gharri-driving  businesses,  and 
there  was  not  a  vehicle  of  any  kind  to  be  found 
within  a  radius  of  five  miles.  I  had  been  compelled 
to  walk  to  the  consulate  and  I  would  jolly  well  have 
to  walk  back  to  the  hotel — a  matter  of  at  least  two 
miles.  I  had  not  yet  had  time  to  acquire  a  sun- 
helmet,  though  one  is  told  at  once  that  it  is  prac- 
tically certain  death  to  go  out  without  one,  and  my 

35 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

sunshade  was  a  blue-and-white-striped  charmeuse 
frivolity  that  anybody  could  see  was  far  more  orna- 
mental than  useful.  However,  dying  is  a  process 
one  is  never  called  upon  to  repeat.  I  walked.  And, 
having  nervous  qualms  about  the  difficulties  I  was 
going  to  encounter  in  getting  something  to  take  me 
and  my  belongings  to  the  two-forty-five  train,  I 
walked  fast. 

In  the  mean  time  I  had  acquired  a  servant.  When 
you  are  traveling  in  India  you  simply  have  to  have 
a  servant.  Otherwise  you  go  unserved.  You  do, 
anyhow. 

My  servant  was  a  Mohammedan  and  an  elderly 
kind  of  gentleman.  You  do  not  have  women  ser- 
vants. Only  about  one  and  a  half  per  cent,  of  the 
women  of  India — in  a  population  of  three  hundred 
and  twenty  million  plus — are  literate  in  any  degree, 
and  the  minds  of  the  other  ninety-eight  and  a  half 
per  cent.,  having  become  eyeless  through  eons  of 
benightedness,  are  not  worth  much  for  anything, 
the  universal  testimony  being  that  for  general  pur- 
poses the  average  Indian  ayah  is  utterly  useless. 

My  servant's  name  was  Vilayat.  An  Arabian 
Nights  kind  of  person  he  was,  and  I  think  he  was 
named  for  one  of  the  forty  thieves.  He  was  six 
feet  three  inches  tall  in  his  bare  black  feet,  and  he 
wore  a  tall  white  turban  on  top  of  the  rest  of  his 
tallness.  He  had  a  gray  beard  and  great  dignity, 
and  he  proved  to  be  an  expert  at  getting  other 
people  to  do  his  work  for  bakshish,  which  he  freely 
and  grandly  distributed  from  the  expense  allowance 
I  gave  him.  Having  procured  my  tickets  on  the 
way  from  the  consulate,  I  handed  them  to  him 
and  said: 

36 


THE  BOMBAY  SIDE  OF  THE  PUNKA 

"We  take  the  two-forty-five  train  to  Poona." 

Whereupon  I  did  my  own  packing,  while  he  went 
off  to  make  himself  fit  to  associate  with  the  govern- 
mentally  employed.  He  returned  in  fine  flowing 
raiment  and  a  fresh  turban  marvelously  wound 
just  in  time  to  boss  the  coolies  I  had  called  to 
carry  my  bags  down  to  the  motor-car  I  had  myself, 
with  infinite  difficulty,  secured.  Incidentally,  he 
solemnly  explained  that  he  had  been  compelled  to 
go  to  a  mosque  and  offer  a  special  prayer  in  order 
to  be  cleansed  of  the  sin  of  what  he  called  "  working  " 
on  a  holy  day. 

Just  the  same,  everybody  has  to  have  one  of  him. 
Life  would  not  be  worth  living  without  him — what- 
ever may  be  said  of  life  with  him.  He  got  forty- 
five  rupees,  or  about  fifteen  dollars,  a  month.  And 
all  the  Anglo-Indians — Anglo-Indians  being  people 
who  really  belong  to  India  and  are  not  just  tem- 
porary residents — complain  bitterly  about  the  way 
servants'  wages  have  gone  up.  And  justly,  too. 
One  good  English  servant  is  equal  to  at  least  three 
Indians,  and  in  order  to  get  his  work  done  at  all 
the  Englishman  in  India  must  have  so  many  of 
them  that  in  the  end  his  bill  for  service  often 
amounts  to  more  than  it  would  at  home. 

Five  dollars  a  month  used  to  be  excellent  wages 
for  a  bearer.  Which  reminds  me  that  Vilayat  was 
a  "bearer,"  not  a  servant.  I'm  sure  I  don't  know 
why.  It  is  merely  a  local  name  and  has  no  mean- 
ing at  all,  so  far  as  I  can  discover.  I  never  saw 
Vilayat  bearing  anything  heavier  than  a  parasol 
or  a  railway  ticket,  unless  my  presence  in  the  offing 
might  be  counted  as  a  burden.  Though,  come  to 
think  of  it,  all  these  servants  apply  for  positions 

4  37 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

armed  with  packets  of  letters  of  excessive  recom- 
mendation; many  of  them  aged  and  frayed.  And 
these  letters  invariably  begin,  "The  bearer,"  So-and 
so.  That  must  be  the  way  they  came  by  their 
curious  designation. 

Poona  lies  southeast  of  Bombay  about  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty  miles,  and  to  get  to  it  the  railway 
crosses  the  great  Bore  Ghat,  a  ghat  being  a  moun- 
tain pass  or  a  range  of  mountains  or  a  flight  of  steps 
leading  down  to  a  river  where  Hindus  burn  their 
dead  and  go  for  holy  ablutions,  and  a  number  of 
other  things,  for  all  I  know.  It  is  a  little  confusing 
at  first,  but  one  learns  to  know  the  difference  be- 
tween a  mountain  range  and  a  stairway,  even 
though  they  are  called  by  the  same  name. 

When  I  am  climbing  a  mountain  into  cool 
altitudes  I  always  feel  that  I  am  going  north. 
One  goes  "up  north"  and  "down  south,"  and  it  is 
humanly  instinctive  to  feel  that  everything  in  a 
southerly  direction  should  be  down-hill.  An  in- 
dividual mental  quirk,  I  suppose.  The  climb  down 
south  up  to  Poona  is  a  steep  and  winding  climb  for 
which  they  have  to  use  powerful  engines  that  puff 
and  struggle  and  have  brakes  that  grind  and  groan. 
There  are  twenty-six  tunnels  and  eight  dizzy 
viaducts  in  the  course  of  sixteen  miles  over  the 
Bore  Ghat,  and  during  the  rains  one  can  count  as 
many  as  fifty  waterfalls  pouring  out  of  the  gaunt 
black  rock  of  the  almost  perpendicular  hills.  A 
specially  magnificent  one,  up  at  the  head  of  a  vast 
panoramic  valley,  has  a  sheer  drop  of  more  than 
three  hundred  feet. 

In  the  immediate  vicinity  of  this  there  are  a 

38 


THE  BOMBAY  SIDE  OF  THE  PUNKA 

number  of  gigantic  pipe-lines  winding  down  the 
mountain-side,  and  long  converging  lines  of  tall 
steel  towers  carrying  wire  up  over  the  far-away 
crests  and  off  into  a  world  beyond.  One  wants  to 
know  the  why  and  the  wherefore  of  these,  and  one 
learns  that  they  are  the  harness  of  the  waterfalls. 
An  enterprising  company  has  built  a  great  reservoir; 
the  water  is  stored  in  the  heights,  and  when  the 
rains  are  over  and  the  falls  dry  up  it  is  let  down  as 
it  is  required,  and  the  year  round  enough  power  is 
generated  to  light  Bombay,  run  its  electric  railways, 
and  turn  every  wheel  in  the  whole  presidency,  if 
need  be. 

It  is  rather  a  wonderful  little  journey  to  Poona, 
as  journeys  go.  At  Bombay  station  Vilayat  had 
watched  me  secure  for  myself  a  seat  in  a  first-class 
compartment,  had  directed  his  coolie  where  to  put 
my  dressing-bag,  and  had  then  betaken  himself  to 
some  other  part  of  the  train.  And  that  was  the 
last  I  saw  of  him. 

There  was  an  English  army  officer  sitting  oppo- 
site me  and  I  finally  succeeded  in  making  him 
realize  that  he  might  talk  to  me  without  outraging 
any  very  sacred  conventions.  He  was  quite  con- 
servative about  it  at  first  and  I  missed  no  scenery 
on  his  account,  but  when  he  once  got  going  he  was 
as  entertaining  as  need  be.  He  had  been  badly 
wounded  in  Mesopotamia,  had  spent  several  weeks 
in  hospital  at  Bombay,  and  had  just  returned  from 
a  month's  leave  which  he  spent  in  Kashmir  on  a 
mountain  lake  "in  a  house-boat  moored  in  the  wide- 
branched  shade  of  a  drooping  chenar-tree."  Can- 
not say  that  I  was  all  wrought  up  with  pity  for  him. 

When  we  stopped  at  Kirkee  he  was  telling  me  all 

39 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

about  how  he  hunted  big  game  in  the  Kashmir 
mountains  in  the  daytime  and  carved  wood  treas- 
ures in  the  bazaars  of  the  towns  in  the  evenings. 

Kirkee  is  three  and  a  half  miles  from  Poona  and 
about  a  mile  and  a  half  from  Government  House, 
which  is  called  Ganeshkhind.  And  Kirkee  is  the 
station  for  Ganeshkhind.  I  did  not  know  that. 
How  should  I?  You  address  mail  and  telegrams  to 
"Government  House,  Poona."  That  was  what 
the  upstanding,  clean-cut,  business-like,  and  alto- 
gether satisfactory  American  consul  told  me.  But 
he  did  not  tell  me  that  when  you  are  a  visitor  you 
get  off  at  Kirkee  and  go  from  there  to  Ganeshkhind. 

I  was  busy  listening  to  my  army  officer  and  wish- 
ing I  owned  some  of  his  carved-wood  treasures.  In 
fact,  it  all  sounded  so  wonderful  that  I  was  just 
about  making  up  my  mind  to  forget  Baghdad  and 
to  go  on  up  to  Kashmir.  Then  I  happened  to  glance 
out  of  the  window. 

It  was  about  half  past  seven  o'clock,  dark  as  mid- 
night, and  the  usual  evening  rain  of  the  rainy 
season  was  coming  down  in  torrents.  In  the  gleam 
of  the  station  lights  I  saw  a  white  uniform  with  red 
trimmings  and  a  sort  of  red  flannel  breastplate 
effect  fastened  on  with  •  brass  buttons.  It  was 
unmistakable. 

"Isn't  that  a  Government  House  uniform?"  I 
asked. 

The  officer  peered  out  into  the  gloom  and  an- 
swered, "Yes,  that's  a  Government  House  chauf- 
feur." 

I  had  not  told  him  where  I  was  going,  else  he  prob- 
ably would  have  told  me  where  to  get  off.  And 
just  then  a  worried-looking  young  man  came  rush- 

40 


THE  BOMBAY  SIDE  OF  THE  PUNKA 

ing  along  the  platform  looking  in  at  the  windows. 
He  had  lost  something.  That  something  was  my- 
self. I  knew  him  at  once  for  a  secretary.  Though 
he  was  not.  He  was  an  aide-de-camp  out  of 
uniform.  But  aides  and  secretaries  are  usually  of 
the  same  breed  of  attractive  and  irresponsible 
youth.  It  was  he  who  had  not  troubled  to  tell  me 
where  to  go  and  how  to  get  there.  I  was  glad  he 
had  lost  me.  He  caught  my  eye. 

"Are  you  for  Government  House?"  he  shouted. 

With  a  variety  of  gesticulation  I  said,  yes,  I  was. 
The  train  had  begun  to  move  and  was  gaining 
speed  every  instant,  so  he  paid  no  further  attention 
to  me.  He  just  gathered  himself  into  an  energetic 
little  knot  and  yelled:  "Ya-a-r!  Ya-r-r!  Stop! 
Stop !"  And  they  threw  on  the  brakes. 

Somebody  dug  Vilayat  out,  and  he  emerged  from 
somewhere  with  my  blue-and-white-striped  char- 
meuse  parasol,  but  .my  week-end  trunk  with  all  the 
essentials  in  it  was  in  the  goods-van — otherwise  the 
baggage-coach  ahead.  They  had  not  troubled  to 
back  the  train  up  to  the  station,  and  the  goods-van 
was  just  where  a  lot  of  roaring  little  rivulets  were 
sweeping  down  the  track-sides.  The  trunk  simply 
had  to  go  on  to  Poona,  because  by  that  time  the 
conductor  was  visibly  annoyed  and  the  passengers 
were  all  gathering  on  the  platforms  or  thrusting 
their  heads  out  of  windows  into  the  rain  and  asking 
sarcastic  questions. 

Vilayat  was  ordered  to  go  on  to  Poona  with  the 
trunk,  and  one  of  the  motor-cars  was  sent  after 
him  to  fetch  him  and  it  back  to  Ganeshkhind  with 
all  haste.  It  was  then  nearly  eight  o'clock,  and  at 
eight-thirty  there  was  to  be  a  grand  dinner  party 

41 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

with  forty  guests.  This  is  as  good  a  place  as  any, 
I  suppose,  to  say  that  I  knew  absolutely  nothing 
about  Indian  Government  House  procedures.  Let 
nobody  imagine  that  they  are  like  any  other  pro- 
cedures anywhere  else  on  earth. 

All  this  time,  standing  under  umbrellas  in  the  rain 
— with  lips  set,  no  doubt,  in  patient  resignation — 
were  a  colonel  and  his  lady;  an  archdeacon,  no  less! 
and  a  couple  of  other  guests.  We  all  had  to  crowd 
into  one  automobile,  the  other  one  having  gone  to 
Poona  for  my  trunk,  and  I  think  they  were  dis- 
pleased with  me.  I  really  think  they  were.  But 
as  soon  as  I  told  them  I  was  a  stray  cat  in  a  strange 
alley  and  all  about  how  I  had  to  go  to  the  American 
consul  to  find  out  where  the  governor  of  the  great 
Bombay  Presidency  lived,  they  began  to  feel 
better  about  it.  They  were  very  nice,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  and  when  we  whirled  up  under  the  porte- 
cochere  of  Government  House  we  were  all  laughing 
so  much  like  ordinary  humans  that  the  three  aides 
who  came  out  to  meet  us  in  gold  rope,  yellow 
lapels,  and  clicking  spurs  had  to  assume  a  little 
extra  dignity  in  order  to  bring  us  down  to  the 
level  of  decorum  requisite  to  the  environment. 

And  I  don't  mind  saying  I  was  just  a  little  awe- 
stricken.  I  had  never  seen  anything  quite  like  it 
before.  I  have  met  here  and  there,  in  my  meander- 
ings  round  the  earth,  a  few  notable  occupants  of 
notable  palaces.  But  everything  in  India  is  dif- 
ferent. I  learned  that  at  once.  And  I  learned 
why,  too.  I  shall  come  to  that  presently. 

There  *were  two  very  tall  Indians  standing  beside 
the  steps  which  led  up  under  the  porte-cochere  to 
the  entrance.  They  were  all  dressed  up  in  red, 

42 


THE  BOMBAY  SIDE  OF  THE  PUNKA 

with  splendid  high  turbans,  and  very  gracefully  and 
statelily  they  held  ten-foot  lances  with  gilded  axes 
crossing  spears  at  their  tips. 

My  thoughts  flew  back  to  the  years  I  once  upon 
a  time  spent  in  Manila,  and  I  made  a  few  swift, 
entertaining  comparisons.  The  Philippines  have 
about  ten  million  inhabitants,  and  the  Governor- 
Generalship  of  the  Philippines  is  the  biggest  execu- 
tive job  that  the  American  President  has  to  offer 
any  man. 

Malacanan  Palace,  where  the  Governor-General 
lives  in  Manila,  is  a  rather  beautiful  and  dignified 
old  Spanish  residence,  and  the  gardens  round  about 
have  been  made  very  fine  by  a  succession  of  Amer- 
ican governors.  But  as  for  pageant  and  parade  and 
the  "pomp  of  power,"  there  has  never  been  any- 
thing like  that  under  American  so-called  sover- 
eignty. Instead  of  gorgeously  uniformed  senti- 
nels guarding  the  grand  entrance,  there  is  an  Irish 
policeman. 

"And  pwhat  are  ye  afther  wantin'  now?"  says  he. 

"Is  the  Governor  in?"  says  you. 

And  you  never  by  any  chance  say  "His  Excel- 
lency." You  might  very  decidedly  approve  of  cere- 
moniousness  yourself,  but  you  would  know  better 
than  to  try  it  on  an  Irish  policeman. 

"Well,  shure,  he  may  be,  an*  ag'in  he  may  not 
be,"  says  he.  "It  all  depinds.  Have  ye  got  an 
engagement  with  'im  now?" 

You  have,  of  course.  Even  an  American  would 
hardly  have  the  temerity  to  walk  in  on  a  governor 
without  letting  him  know.  Though,  come  to  think 
of  it,  I  believe  they  have  been  known  to  do  so.  And 
I  don't  know  about  Malacanan  Palace  now,  either. 

43 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

The  Irish  policeman  was  of  the  old  Taft  and  Roose- 
veltian  days.  It  was  democracy  carried  to  its 
logical  conclusion,  but  I  am  not  sure  that  many 
persons  were  entirely  satisfied  with  it. 

Our  Jacksonian  simplicity  is  probably  all  a  mis- 
take anyhow,  and  especially  in  our  outlands.  The 
brown  peoples  love  show  and  regard  it  as  an  evi- 
dence of  strength.  They  respect  a  combination  of 
bright  red  and  shining  brass,  while  the  clank  of 
panoply  and  the  clink  of  ornamentation  are  music 
to  their  ears.  And,  for  that  matter,  white  peoples 
are  not  wholly  immune  to  the  influence  of  ostenta- 
tion and  magnificence.  The  tall  red-and-brass-clad 
Indians  with  the  long  lances  certainly  impressed  me. 
They  made  me  feel  as  though  I  ought  to  be  trailing 
priceless  brocades  up  the  imposing  steps,  carelessly 
dropping  pearls  on  the  way. 

One  of  these  days  I  intend  to  write  a  detailed 
account  of  a  number  of  things,  but  just  now  I  must 
hurry  on  because  this  really  is  not  a  visit  to  India. 
It  is  the  splendid  ceremony  of  Indian  official  life 
that  I  wish  to  emphasize.  The  Viceroy  and  the 
governors  of  presidencies  and  provinces  are  the 
direct  representatives  of  the  King-Emperor,  and  it 
is  definitely  a  part  of  their  official  business  to  main- 
tain the  dignity  of  Empire  as  it  is  represented  in 
courtly  ceremony  and  show.  It  is  not  every  man 
and  woman,  however  highly  they  may  have  been 
born  and  however  used  they  may  always  have  been 
to  the  scenic  effects  of  court  life,  who  can  make  a 
success  of  it  in  a  colonial  environment.  England 
trains  a  majority  of  her  colonial  administrators  in 
colonial  administration,  and  once  they  get  into  it 
and  make  a  success  of  it  it  is  a  life  sentence. 

44 


THE  BOMBAY  SIDE  OF  THE  PUNKA 

My  things  turned  up  in  the  nick  of  time  and  I  was 
able  to  descend  to  the  grand  drawing-room  in  a 
leisurely  manner.  I  was  glad  of  that,  because  if 
there  is  anything  I  do  not  approve  of  it  is  de- 
scending to  a  drawing-room  in  an  unleisurely 
manner. 

I  found  when  I  entered  that  a  majority  of  the 
other  thirty-seven  guests  had  already  assembled, 
and  the  first  person  my  eyes  fell  upon  was  a  tall, 
stately  lady  in  white  satin  with  a  rope  of  pearls  and 
a  tiara.  This  was  rather  disconcerting  and  made  me 
conscious  of  the  wrinkles  in  my  gold-brocaded 
chiffon  over  champagne  color.  Gold-brocaded  chif- 
fon over  champagne  color  sounds  rather  nice  as  a 
description,  but  there  are  things  which  no  descrip- 
tion can  possibly  describe,  and  that  gown  is  among 
them.  I  suppose  one  would  hardly  be  expected  to 
travel  round  with  one's  tiara — especially  in  war- 
time— but  one  might  have  had  along  one's  new 
cloth  of  silver  with  silver  lace  and  blue  net  draperies, 
if  it  had  not  been  for  the  stupidity  of  a  ship's 
baggage-master.  I  forgot  to  say  that  my  inno- 
vation-and-too-big-for-any-cabin  trunk  which  con- 
tained all  my  best  garments  was  put  off  the  ship  by 
mistake  at  Singapore  and  that  I  might  not  get  it 
for  a  month — if  ever! 

But  to  me  this  tragedy  was  a  mere  detail.  I  did 
not  know  that  I  was  about  to  encounter  a  case  of  if- 
you-have-clothes-prepare-to-wear-them-now.  I  was 
used  to  war-time  simplicity  and  had  come  happily 
to  a  point  in  my  spiritual  development  where 
packing  for  a  week-end  was  the  least  of  my  worries, 
whether  I  had  anything  special  to  pack  or  not. 
However,  the  tiara  lady  had  fewer  companions  in 

45 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

her  haughtiness  than  I  had  in  my  humbleness,  so  I 
managed  not  to  mind. 

The  numerous  aides  went  through  some  adroit 
social  maneuvers  which  resulted  in  the  precise  but 
careless-like  circular  line-up  of  the  guests  round 
the  room,  then  the  band  in  the  patio — I  do  not 
know  what  else  to  call  a  great  flag-paved  and 
beautifully  furnished,  half-indoors  and  half-out- 
doors space — began  to  play,  and  Their  Excellencies 
entered. 

At  which  point  I  intend  to  stop  being  frivolous. 
I  am  not  meaning  to  be  disrespectful  in  any  case. 
I  was  surprised,  that  was  all;  and  so  much  so  that 
I  took  one  of  my  dinner  partners  into  my  confidence 
and  told  him  so,  saying  that  it  was  the  first  time 
since  the  war  began  that  I  had  seen  anything  so 
completely  normal  in  the  way  of  social  form  and 
formalities.  It  was  the  first  time  in  three  years,  for 
instance,  that  I  had  seen  a  company  of  women  wear- 
ing white  gloves,  and  I  had  spent  a  good  deal  of 
time  in  London,  in  Paris,  and  in  Rome. 

"But  this  is  India,"  said  he.  "We  wanted  to 
stop  all  the  seeming  extravagances  here,  too,  but 
if  we  should  let  down  an  inch  or  give  up  a  single 
item  of  our  usual  processes  it  would  be  taken  at 
once  by  the  Indians  as  a  sign  of  weakness." 

And  that  was  the  explanation.  India  is  proud 
of  the  strength  of  Great  Britain.  India  loves  the 
vast  confederation  of  power  represented  by  the 
King-Emperor.  It  has  been  characteristic  of  the 
Indian  peoples  throughout  their  history  to  desert 
a  banner  that  begins  to  trail,  and  England's  banner 
as  it  is  borne  aloft  in  India  to-day  is  the  only  sign 
by  which  the  teeming  millions  are  capable  of  gaug- 

46 


THE  BOMBAY  SIDE  OF  THE  PUNKA 

ing  the  might  of  England.  It  is  necessary  to 
maintain  the  immediate  and  outer  semblances  of 
normality. 

I  was  to  learn  next  morning  whence  came  all  the 
flowers.  There  are  broad  acres,  hundreds  of  them, 
within  the  domain  of  Ganeshkhind,  and  the  park 
surrounding  the  house,  with  its  stretches  of  velvety 
lawn,  its  banks  of  shrubbery,  its  ancient  trees,  its 
winding,  shady  walks,  its  lakes  and  lily-ponds,  and 
its  unlimited  flower  gardens,  is  riotously  beautiful. 

The  long  table  was  ablaze  with  yellow  cosmos 
under  very  high  candles,  the  rays  from  which  shot 
upward  into  the  ten  thousand  reflecting  facets  of  a 
row  of  magnificent  old  crystal  chandeliers.  It  was 
a  beautiful  scene,  and  could  have  made  one  forget 
the  war  for  a  moment  had  it  not  been  that  every 
man  at  the  table  except  His  Excellency  was  in 
uniform. 

And  it  was  a  noble  room.  With  a  great  fireplace 
at  one  end,  its  vast  wall  spaces  were  paneled  from 
floor  to  beamed  ceiling  in  splendid  oak.  Within 
the  panels  hung  portraits  of  British  sovereigns. 

Her  Excellency  sat  facing  the  Queen  on  one  side, 
while  His  Excellency  faced  the  King  on  the  other. 
Not  that  it  makes  much  difference,  perhaps,  but  I 
faced  King  William — which  shows  how  far  re- 
moved I  was  from  the  seat  on  His  Excellency's 
right.  I  was  separated  from  that  honor  by  the 
beneficent  reigns  of  both  Queen  Victoria  and  King 
Edward,  to  say  nothing  of  Queen  Victoria  as  a  girl. 

I  had  an  army  officer  on  either  side  of  me,  and 
the  one  of  lesser  rank,  at  least,  gave  an  excellent 
imitation  of  a  man  who  knows  how  to  knit  up  the 
threads  of  conversation  even  though  their  other 

47 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

ends  were  held  by  a  perfect  stranger,  and  she  an 
impossible  American.  He  of  the  higher  rank  and 
greater  rotundity  had  a  mistaken  idea  which  he 
spent  some  time  during  dinner  in  misadroitly  ex- 
posing. This  idea  was  that  to  make  himself  popu- 
lar with  me  all  he  had  to  do  was  to  talk  about  how 
long  it  took  the  United  States  to  get  into  the  war. 
Some  Englishmen  are  like  that.  But  not  many, 
Heaven  be  thanked! 

At  a  certain  point  at  any  formal  party  in  India 
the  host  rises  to  his  feet;  his  guests  do  likewise; 
they  raise  their  glasses  and  he  says,  very  quietly, 
"The  King-Emperor!"  Then  if  there  is  a  band 
everybody  stands  perfectly  still  through  the  first 
three  lines  of  "God  Save  the  King." 

Americans  used  to  loll  around  under  the  glorious 
strains  of  "The  Star-spangled  Banner."  Then 
came  a  time  when  the  national  consciousness  began 
to  stir  and  most  of  us  got  so  we  were  able  to  struggle 
to  our  feet — along  about  "the  twilight's  last  gleam- 
ing." After  which  a  quickening  of  the  national 
heart  under  a  threat  of  national  danger  and  a  sud- 
den realization  that  the  cue  upon  which  promptly 
to  assume  an  attitude  of  reverence  is,  "Oh,  say!" 

And  that  is  where  we  now  all  stand  up.  But 
to  know  what  your  national  anthem  really  means 
you  must  hear  its  strains  in  an  alien  land  over 
which  your  flag  flies  as  an  emblem  of  authority. 
Your  flag  stands  for  the  liberties  which  it  confers 
and  for  the  power  by  which  it  maintains  them,  and 
if  you  have  seen  an  unregenerate  and  chaotic  people 
rising  to  regeneracy  and  order  under  its  clean  and 
masterful  might,  you  get  a  new  and  a  different 
feeling  for  it. 

48 


THE  BOMBAY  SIDE  OF  THE  PUNKA 

When  we  rose  to  "The  King-Emperor"  at  that 
table  I  noticed  in  particular  the  long  line  of  gor- 
geously attired  Indian  house-service  men  who  stood 
rigidly  at  attention  behind  the  guests  they  had 
served,  and  my  mind  flashed  beyond  them  and  out 
across  the  boundless  expanse  of  India  with  her 
three  hundred  and  twenty-plus  millions  of  people 
for  whom  the  British  flag  is  a  symbol  of  such 
security  and  internal  peace  as  they  never  knew 
under  any  other,  and  it  was  reverently  that  I 
echoed  His  Excellency's  toast: 

"The  King-Emperor!" 


CHAPTER  IV 

AN  INTERESTING  BUT  ANXIOUS  INTERVAL 

IN  the  mean  time  it  must  not  be  (forgotten  that 
I  am  on  my  way  to  Baghdad! 

It  was  in  the  drawing-room  after  dinner  the  first 
evening  at  Ganeshkhind  that  His  Excellency  said 
tome: 

"Well,  now  that  we  have  you  here,  what  specially 
may  we  have  the  pleasure  of  doing  for  you?'* 

"I  want  to  go  to  Baghdad!"  I  announced — just 
like  that.  And  I  confess  that  such  a  desire  im- 
pressed even  me  as  being  slightly  unreasonable. 
Lord  Willingdon  laughed  in  a  way  that  should  have 
discouraged  me  utterly,  and  assured  me  that  he 
knew  few  persons  in  India  who  did  not  want  to  go 
to  Baghdad. 

"But  it  is  impossible!"  he  said.  "General  Maude 
never  would  consent  to  it,  and  without  his  consent 
nobody  can  get  into  Mesopotamia  at  all.  And  a 
lady!  Oh  no!  He  wouldn't  have  a  lady  within  a 
thousand  miles  of  Baghdad  if  he  could  help  it." 

"But  I'm  not  a  lady,"  I  said.  He  looked  a  bit 
startled  for  an  instant,  but  he  soon  got  what  to  the 
average  working-woman  is  an  old-time  joke,  and 
he  seemed  to  like  it. 

"We  might  ask  him?"  I  suggested. 

50 


AN  INTERESTING  BUT  ANXIOUS  INTERVAL 

And  it  may  be  that  was  the  least  His  Excellency 
could  have  done,  but  I  came  in  time  to  realize  that 
it  was  a  very  great  deal.  He  was  one  of  General 
Maude's  very  close  friends,  but  the  etiquette  of  the 
situation  demanded  that  he  convey  my  request 
through  the  Viceroy  and  the  chief  of  the  General 
Staff  at  Simla.  I  began  at  once  to  feel  very  small 
and  insignificant,  and  I  had  an  uncomfortable  im- 
pression that  to  make  such  a  request  through  such 
a  channel  entitled  me  to  social  ostracism. 

However,  the  request  was  made,  and  I  sat  down 
to  await  the  issue. 

No,  I  did  not  sit  down.    I  explored  Bombay. 

The  British  did  not  take  Bombay  away  from  its 
original  owners — whoever  they  may  have  been. 
The  Portuguese  did  that  a  whole  century  before  the 
little  island  colony  came  to  the  crown  of  Britain 
and  it  came  to  the  crown  of  Britain  as  part  of  the 
dowry  of  Catherine  of  Braganza  when  she  married 
Charles  II.  That  is  the  picturesque  small  item  of 
history  which  gives  Bombay  a  unique  place  in  the 
British  Empire.  Just  a  little  group  of  practically 
uninhabited  islands  lying  close  in  against  the  main- 
land of  India,  they  were  transferred  to  England  the 
same  year  New  York  became  an  incorporated  city — 
in  1665. 

Just  a  little  group  of  islands  lying  close  in  against 
the  mainland  of  India,  they  were  separated  by  shal- 
low channels  which  have  since  been  filled  in  or 
spanned  by  gigantic  causeways,  so  that  now  the 
island  of  Bombay,  twenty-two  and  a  half  square 
miles  in  area,  looks  as  though  God  and  not  enter- 
prising Englishmen  had  made  it. 

51 


Why  the  Portuguese  should  have  so  greatly  un- 
derestimated the  value  of  the  place  would  be  diffi- 
cult to  figure  out.  Those  things  interest  me,  and  I 
want  to  drag  the  ancient  mistaken  ones  back  and  say 
to  them,  "Well,  here  now,  don't  you  see?" — thus 
and  so.  But  the  Portuguese  seem  always  to  have 
been  bad  judges  of  ports.  And  always  they  have 
given  things  up,  not  reluctantly  and  with  duly  filed 
protests,  but  with  a  kind  of  confident  assurance 
that  they  were  getting  the  better  of  the  bargain. 
In  the  early  nineteenth  century  they  clung  jealously 
to  the  shallow  and  useless  harbor  of  Macao  on  the 
Pacific  coast  of  Asia,  while  they  permitted  the  Brit- 
ish to  acquire  the  inestimably  valuable  near-by 
island  of  Hongkong,  along  with  the  wide  and  deep 
waterways  surrounding  it.  And  in  the  seventeenth 
century  they  preferred  the  unimportant  port  of 
Goa  south  of  Bombay  on  the  mainland  coast — 
which  they  still  possess — to  the  advantages  of  the 
finest  harbor  in  the  East,  which  the  British  instantly 
recognized. 

At  least  the  British  traders  did.  In  those  days 
the  British  traders — sailing  the  seas  in  then*  picture 
ships  of  untold  and  untellable  romance — were  out 
for  themselves.  They  were  neither  altruistic  nor 
imperialistic.  They  thought  little  of  benefiting 
the  peoples  of  the  rich  Eastern  lands  into  which 
they  thrust  themselves,  and  as  little  of  aggrandize- 
ment for  the  throne  of  their  sovereign.  It  was  an 
age  of  adventure  and  gain,  and  adventure  and  gain 
were  the  twin  fascinations  the  old  traders  pursued, 
along  with  their  contemporaries  of  nearly  every 
nationality. 

King  Charles  II  on  his  throne,  waging  his  unin- 

52 


AN  INTERESTING  BUT  ANXIOUS  INTERVAL 

telligent  battle  for  "divine  right"  against  the  then 
well-developed  spirit  of  democracy  among  his  Anglo- 
Saxon  people — what  could  he  know  about  the  values 
of  the  great  outer  world  then  breathing  its  first 
breath  of  unbelievable  life?  Four  years  after  the 
islands  of  Bombay  came  to  him  in  the  dowry  of 
Catherine  of  Braganza  he  transferred  them  to  the 
East  India  Company  for  an  annual  rental  of  fifty 
dollars!  And  not  so  very  long  before  that  the  Indians 
sold  the  island  of  Manhattan  for  something  plus  a 
string  of  beads! 

Bombay  now  has  nearly  one  million  inhabitants. 
At  the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century  it  al- 
ready had  two  hundred  thousand,  and  early  in 
the  twentieth  century  the  census-takers  counted 
959,537  souls.  Nearly  seven  hundred  thousand  of 
these  are  Hindus  and  one  hundred  and  fifty  thou- 
sand are  Mohammedans,  while  less  than  sixteen 
thousand,  counting  both  mixed  and  pure  European 
blood,  are  Christians. 

There  are  about  sixty  thousand  Parsees,  and  the 
Parsees  are  perhaps  the  most  interesting  and  im- 
portant element  in  the  community.  It  is  to  British 
initiative  and  example  and  to  Parsee  appreciation, 
intelligence,  and  generosity  that  Bombay  owes  the 
fact  of  her  present  existence  as  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  cities  in  the  world.  Though  I  do  not 
mean  to  imply  that  there  have  not  been  many 
generous,  intelligent,  and  appreciative  Hindu  and 
Mohammedan  citizens.  It  is  just  that  the  Parsees 
have  been  peculiarly  conspicuous  for  these  char- 
acteristics. 

Yet  they  still  maintain  the  unthinkable  Towers  of 
Silence  in  the  heart  and  center  of  Bombay's  most 
5  53 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

fashionable  residential  district;  the  Towers  of 
Silence,  where  the  Parsee  dead  are  disposed  of  by 
the  forever  hovering,  horrible  flocks  of  vultures 
that,  on  occasion,  grow  gorged  and  careless  and 
drop  human  flesh  and  little  bones  in  the  flowering, 
fragrant  gardens  of  the  great  on  Malabar  Hill. 
But  what  would  you?  The  Towers  of  Silence  are 
unthinkable  only  to  the  Christian  mind.  To  the 
mind  of  the  Parsee  all  other  methods  of  disposing 
of  his  dead  are  unthinkable. 

The  Parsees  are  Zoroastrians — worshipers  of  the 
sun  and  fire  as  the  truest  manifestations  of  the 
Almighty — and  they  came  down  from  Persia  into 
India  about  the  middle  of  the  seventh  century  when 
they  began  to  be  grossly  persecuted  by  the  Moham- 
medan conquerors  of  the  Sassanide  Empire.  And 
they  were  persecuted  always  by  the  Mohammedan 
conquerors  of  India  and  by  the  Hindus,  until  the 
happy  day  arrived  for  all  religions  when  British 
power  began  to  be  predominant  in  India.  But 
Bombay  was  purely  British  long  before  the  rest  of 
India  was  anything  but  a  happy  hunting-ground 
for  English  merchants,  and  the  Parsees — along 
with  other  mistreated  elements  in  the  population — 
flocked  to  the  sure  shelter  of  the  British  flag. 
There  are  only  about  one  hundred  and  one  thousand 
Parsees  in  all  India  to-day,  and  ninety  thousand  of 
them  belong  to  the  Bombay  Presidency,  while  at 
least  sixty  thousand  of  them  live  in  the  city  of 
Bombay. 

Many  of  them  are  gentlemen  of  the  finest  type, 
and  they  are  distinguishable  by  their  long  black 
coats  and  the  curious,  stiff,  black,  miter-like  hats 

they  wear.     Their  homes  are  among  the  most  pre- 
54 


AN   INTERESTING  BUT  ANXIOUS  INTERVAL 

tentious  in  the  city  and  they  control  a  tremendous 
percentage  of  its  commerce  and  trade. 

But  they  are  remarkable  principally  for  their 
unusual  generosity. 

The  old-time  Britishers  in  the  East  India  Com- 
pany set  the  example  of  civic  ambition  by  building 
the  great  Town  Hall,  and  since  then  millions  of 
pounds  sterling  have  been  spent  by  public-spirited 
citizens  for  the  erection  of  all  kinds  of  fine  buildings 
and  institutions  such  as  most  municipalities  have  to 
worry  along  without  unless  they  can  be  municipally 
provided. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  things  about  Bombay 
is  the  fact  that  it  cannot  be  governed.  It  has  to 
be  coaxed  and  cajoled  and  at  times  benevolently 
deceived.  It  can  be  governed  in  so  far  as  control 
by  the  police  and  the  courts  over  individual  action 
is  concerned,  but  government  may  not  arbitrarily 
undertake  anything  in  the  way  of  development  and 
improvement  without  precipitating  a  variety  of 
riots. 

There  is  a  great,  teeming,  native  city  lying  round 
the  beautiful  modern  quarter — with  its  parks  and 
playgrounds,  its  deep-shaded  avenues,  its  magnif- 
icent asphalted,  palace-lined  drives,  its  clubs  and 
its  churches,  and  its  uproariously  ornamental  public 
buildings — and  in  this  native  city  there  are  large 
bodies  of  representatives  of  each  one  of  India's 
numerous  clashing  religions.  And  one  might  men- 
tion first  the  admirable  Parsees. 

Does  a  pitiful  small  minority  of  squeamish  Eng- 
lishmen desire  the  removal  of  the  fearful  Towers 
of  Silence  to  some  point  outside  the  heart  and  center 
of  its  domestic  life  and  social  activities?  To  be 

55 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

sure  it  does.  But  a  united  community  of  Parsees 
stands  ready  to  tell  the  squeamish  Englishmen  to 
move  themselves  if  they  are  not  satisfied.  The 
park  within  which  these  stand  is  forbidden  ground. 
The  idea  of  British  oppression  and  despotism  in 
India  is  a  curious  kind  of  joke. 

Does  it  seem  to  the  best  interest  of  all  concerned 
that  a  series  of  wide  streets  should  be  cut  through 
the  native  city  and  that  large  modern  tenement  and 
apartment  houses  should  be  built  to  relieve  conges- 
tion and  to  improve  deplorable  sanitary  conditions? 
Yes,  but  in  carrying  out  such  projects  certain  time- 
honored  citizens'  rights  might  have  to  be  invaded. 
In  cutting  a  street,  for  instance,  a  Mohammedan 
mosque  might  be  threatened,  and  if  government 
wants  more  trouble  on  its  hands  than  it  can  con- 
veniently manage,  all  it  has  to  do  is  to  invade  by  so 
much  as  an  inch  the  sacred  premises  of  a  Moham- 
medan mosque. 

Then  there  are  the  Jains  and  various  castes  of 
the  Hindu  faith  whose  prejudices  are  deep-rooted 
and  far  more  important  in  their  view  than  life 
itself.  And  these  people  are  dirty.  Their  city 
reeks  with  filth  even  to-day,  though  a  battle  royal 
has  been  waged  for  years  against  their  habits  and 
customs.  For  example:  Since  1896  plague  has  been 
constantly  prevalent  in  Bombay,  and  it  breaks  out 
every  once  in  so  often  in  epidemic  form.  The  port 
has  been  quarantined  time  and  again  and  com- 
merce has  suffered  inestimable  loss,  while  hundreds 
of  thousands  of  lives  have  been  sacrificed.  Bom- 
bay would  doubtless  lead  the  whole  East  to-day  in 
population  if  it  had  not  been  for  epidemic  plague. 

The  leading  men  of  the  community  decided  a  few 

56 


AN  INTERESTING  BUT  ANXIOUS  INTERVAL 

years  ago  that  something  would  have  to  be  done 
to  ameliorate  impossible  conditions.  So  the  Bom- 
bay City  Improvement  Trust  came  into  being,  an 
organization  intrusted  principally  with  the  com- 
plicated and  nearly  impossible  business  of  getting 
the  property-owners  and  the  population  in  general 
to  listen  to  reason.  It  has  in  its  membership  eminent 
and  respected  representatives  of  every  community 
and  every  sect  in  the  city,  who  serve  without  pay, 
and  who,  for  a  good  many  years,  have  been  going 
on  with  the  job  as  diligently  and  faithfully  as 
though  they  were  making  large  private  fortunes  out 
of  it.  Behind  them  a  Public  Works  Department 
and  a  body  of  their  own  builders  and  engineers 
stand  ready  to  drive  a  wedge  of  actual  performance 
into  every  breach  they  make  in  the  compact  preju- 
dices of  the  people.  And  if  that  is  not  a  curious  way 
for  a  government  to  get  along  with  the  governed, 
there  is  nothing  curious  in  this  world. 

But  it  succeeds  by  degrees.  And  it  happens  that 
within  the  past  five  years  splendid  avenues  actually 
have  been  cut  through  the  native  city — not  straight, 
because  wherever  a  Mohammedan  mosque  lay  in 
the  way  a  detour  had  to  be  made;  streets  have 
been  widened;  the  drainage  system  has  been  tre- 
mendously improved;  congested  areas  have  been 
thinned  out;  fine  tenement-houses  have  been  built 
here  and  there,  and  such  projects  undertaken  and 
carried  to  completion  as  could  not  have  been  sug- 
gested a  few  years  ago. 

There  is  a  Port  Trust  also,  and  it,  too,  is  a  trust 
in  the  sense  that  it  is  a  guardian  of  public  interests. 
It  is  an  older  institution  than  the  City  Improvement 
Trust  and  has  more  to  show  for  its  activities.  It 

57 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

has  so  much,  in  fact,  that  I  shall  not  attempt  to 
write  about  it.  Its  members  are  able  to  deluge 
any  visitor  who  will  hold  still  long  enough,  with 
a  flood  of  statistical  narrative  that  will  sweep  him 
off  his  feet.  They  like  to  "point  with  pride,"  and 
will  defy  you  to  name  any  city  on  earth  that  has 
finer  docks,  more  magnificent  warehouses,  a  better 
system  of  railway  communication  with  the  shipping 
services,  or  that  has  reclaimed  from  the  sea  greater 
areas  of  land. 

Oh,  all  right,  you  say.  You  give  up.  Bombay  is 
in  many  ways  altogether  amazing,  has  more  civic 
pride  to  the  square  inch  than  any  place  you  know 
anything  about,  and  will  be  a  wonderful  city  when 
it  is  finished.  But  ambition  always  keeps  a  few 
laps  ahead  of  performance  and  the  war  caught  Bom- 
bay looking  like  anything  but  a  finished  product. 

And,  as  I  have  said,  the  port  is  the  front  door  of 
India.  It  was  without  a  day's  warning  really  that 
that  door  was  thrown  open  to  the  greatest  influx 
and  egress  of  materials  and  men  that  the  country 
had  ever  known.  But  the  result  was  that  every- 
thing went  ahead  and  got  itself  completed  and  in 
operation  in  about  half  the  time  that  ordinarily 
would  be  considered  reasonable. 

In  India's  terrific  population  there  were  before  the 
war  only  about  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  thou- 
sand Britishers  all  told,  and  of  these  more  than  three- 
fifths  were  soldiers.  There  were  some  eighty  thou- 
sand English  troops  and  one  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  native  troops  in  the  regular  Indian  army. 
The  native  reserve  forces  amounted  to  only  thirty- 
six  thousand  men;  there  were  eighteen  thousand 
Imperial  Service  troops  furnished  by  the  princes  of 

58 


AN  INTERESTING  BUT  ANXIOUS  INTERVAL 

the  native  states,  and,  in  addition,  there  was  a  home- 
guard,  trained  by  regular  officers,  of  thirty-six  thou- 
sand European  and  Anglo-Indian  volunteers. 

This  was  the  sum  total  of  the  Indian  military 
establishment  which  kept  India's  millions  quiescent 
under  the  "galling  yoke"  of  England,  and  I  am 
told  that  when  war  was  declared  the  whole  force 
precipitated  itself  upon  the  unready  city  of  Bombay 
with  an  evident  intention  of  getting  out  and  into 
the  thick  of  the  fray  without  an  instant's  delay. 

An  exaggeration,  of  course.  But  that  was  the  way 
it  seemed  to  the  city's  suddenly  harassed  inhabi- 
tants. And  it  means  that  Bombay  was  invaded 
almost  overnight  by  an  unprecedented  crowd  of 
army  officers  engaged  on  the  never-before-under- 
taken-on-such-a-scale  task  of  mobilization  and 
preparation  for  transport,  while  more  troops  than 
the  city  had  ever  seen  were  moved  hi  from  canton- 
ments all  over  India  in  anticipation  of  immediate 
embarkation. 

Everything  everywhere  was  more  or  less  muddled 
in  those  days,  and  there  must  have  been  fearful 
confusion  in  India.  But  Bombay  could  have  been 
nothing  but  thrillingly  interesting.  In  private  let- 
ters and  journals  of  the  time  I  get  a  constantly 
recurring  note  of  furious  impatience  with  the  men 
in  command,  and  it  is  not  difficult  to  imagine  the 
heatedness  and  the  excitement  of  luncheon-  and 
dinner-table  conversations. 

Nobody  knew  where  he  was  going,  but  everybody 
wanted  to  go  to  France — Indians  and  Englishmen 
alike.  Then  rumors  began  to  float  around  that  a 
force  was  to  be  sent  to  the  Persian  Gulf! 

To  the  Persian  Gulf?  In  the  name  of  all  that  was 

59 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

unreasonable — why?  What  good  would  a  force  do 
off  on  a  side-track  like  that  when  every  available 
man  was  needed  to  check  the  German  advance  in 
the  west! 

Men  who  ought  to  have  known  better  railed 
openly  at  the  authorities  for  not  being  able  to  realize 
that  India  was  not,  as  they  expressed  it,  at  that 
moment  the  Hub  of  the  Universe.  What  danger 
could  India  be  in  from  the  north?  None  whatever! 
And  whatever  England  required  of  Turkey  or  Persia 
could  be  obtained  by  peaceful  negotiation  after 
Germany  was  destroyed.  And  Germany  probably 
would  be  destroyed,  lock,  stock,  and  barrel,  within 
three  or  four  months! 

What  a  delusion !  And  how  convincingly  it  proves 
the  innocent  ignorance  on  the  part  of  Englishmen 
with  regard  to  Germany's  power  and  intention! 
Little  we  dreamed  in  those  days  of  what  was  ahead 
of  us !  And  little  those  men  knew  what  a  long,  bitter 
struggle  they  were  to  have  to  preserve  India  and 
the  Empire  from  the  danger  they  were  not  able  then 
to  recognize! 

One  day,  along  about  mid-October,  1914,  a  great 
fleet  sailed  out  of  Bombay  Harbor.  It  was  the 
largest  of  its  kind  that  anybody  up  to  that  time 
had  ever  seen.  It  consisted  of  forty-six  transports 
and  three  battle-ships — or  gunboats  of  sorts — and 
it  carried  India's  first  contribution  to  the  war. 

Forty-two  of  the  forty-six  troopers  carried  two 
separate  forces;  one  consisting  of  cavalry,  royal 
artillery,  and  infantry  for  France,  and  the  other 
infantry,  artillery,  and  Imperial  Service  troops  for 
East  Africa.  The  other  four,  escorted  by  one  gun- 

60 


AN   INTERESTING   BUT  ANXIOUS  INTERVAL 

boat,  were  bound  for  the  Persian  Gulf — carrying  the 
vanguard  of  the  army  that  has  held  the  Mesopo- 
tamian  zone. 

An  officer  who  was  in  command  of  one  of  the 
Indian  regiments  bound  for  the  Persian  Gulf — him- 
self in  a  fit  of  depression  at  the  time  because  he 
could  not  go  to  France — has  sketched  for  me  the 
scene  of  the  sailing  of  this  armada  in  colorful  remi- 
niscence. H.M.S.  Swiftsure,  a  unit  in  the  convoy, 
ran  up  a  signal  for  all  transports  to  be  ready  to 
heave  anchor,  and,  in  quiet,  impressive  obedience, 
each  division  moved  slowly  out  to  position  in  the 
grand  fleet.  The  formation  was  completed  just  be- 
yond the  wide,  beautiful  outer  harbor,  and  it  was 
in  the  orange  light  of  a  tropical  sunset  that  the 
ships  steamed  majestically  away.  They  were  to 
part  company  when  night  had  fallen,  to  go  their 
separate  mysterious  directions. 

One  can  imagine  that  Bombay,  after  weeks  of  the 
excitement  and  rush  of  preparation,  waked  up  next 
morning  with  the  feeling  which  has  grown  familiar 
to  so  many  persons  in  the  world — the  feeling  of 
being  very  much  left  behind. 

But  there  was  work  to  do.  England  and  Turkey 
were  not  yet  at  war;  there  was  no  Gallipoli  and  no 
Mesopotamia;  but  there  were  the  German  troops 
in  East  Africa  on  the  borders  of  British  East  Africa 
to  be  accounted  for,  and  Bombay  would  have  to  be 
both  the  base  of  supplies  and  the  port  for  casualties 
in  connection  with  operations  in  that  direction. 

And  since  England  and  Turkey  declared  war 
within  two  weeks  it  was  not  long  before  Bombay 
became  the  pivotal  point  of  the  widest-flung  war 
area  of  them  all.  Instantly,  unanimously,  and  with 

61 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

the  strong  support  of  the  central  government,  the 
British  in  India  determined  to  discharge  without 
assistance  every  obligation  that  could  be  imposed 
by  the  necessities  of  this  area.  And  the  actual  per- 
formance has  exceeded  everybody's  original  con- 
ception of  the  possibilities. 

As  I  am  confining  myself  to  a  consideration  of 
Bombay  as  a  great  British  city  and  center  of  war 
activity  in  India  I  shall  have  to  expose  myself  to  a 
charge  of  partiality  and  of  neglect  of  the  fine  work 
done  and  the  sacrifices  made  in  other  cities  and 
provinces  of  the  Empire.  But  I  think  no  reasonable 
person  would  expect  any  one  to  cover  such  a  sub- 
ject in  less  than  several  volumes. 

Through  the  port  of  Bombay  the  armies  in  Meso- 
potamia and  East  Africa  had  to  be  provided  with 
food,  equipment,  munitions,  and  all  the  parapher- 
nalia of  war,  to  say  nothing  of  reinforcements  mo- 
bilized in  India  or  coming  from  various  directions 
for  transshipment  at  Bombay.  But  the  first  thing 
the  city  had  to  face  was  the  necessity  for  making 
provision  for  the  wounded  and  for  meeting  demands 
for  different  kinds  of  relief.  They  were  fairly  well 
off  for  peace-time  hospitals — thanks  to  the  gen- 
erosity of  public-spirited  men — but  a  few  hundred 
casualties  would  have  taxed  their  capacity,  and  be- 
fore the  war-organizers  had  time  to  finish  their 
preliminary  discussions  they  began  to  get  appeals 
for  help  from  Mesopotamia,  from  Gallipoli,  and 
even  from  Europe. 

I  cannot  imagine  how  it  was  accomplished,  but 
the  city  now  has  five  or  six  of  the  finest  military 
hospitals  in  the  world,  with  a  capacity  of  something 

62 


AN   INTERESTING  BUT  ANXIOUS    INTERVAL 

like  ten  thousand  beds.  In  addition  to  which,  when 
Alexandria  and  Cairo  were  being  swamped  by  the 
fearful  backwash  from  Gallipoli,  a  full  hospital  unit 
with  complete  equipment  was  organized  and  sent 
to  Egypt. 

There  is  a  Bombay  Presidency  War  and  Relief 
Fund  which  undertakes  anything  from  establishing 
hospitals  to  boosting  great  popular  loans,  and  the 
Women's  Branch  is — the  Women's  Branch.  To  the 
casual  onlooker  and  stranger  in  the  land  it  looks  very 
much  like  the  tail  that  wags  the  dog.  Which  means 
that  a  great  part  of  every  kind  of  war  work  seems 
to  be  done  by  the  women. 

The  Women's  Branch  was  organized  by  Lady 
Willingdon,  and  Lady  Willingdon  is  a  business 
woman.  She  went  all  over  the  great  Presidency, 
which  has  something  like  twenty  million  inhabi- 
tants, and  organized  the  whole  population  of 
women,  Indians  and  English  together.  Then  she 
instituted  a  system  of  not  too  friendly  rivalry  be- 
tween communities,  which  has  resulted  in  a  perfect 
deluge  of  successful  output. 

The  organization  has  made  good  with  a  minimum 
of  friction,  overlapping,  and  delay,  and  this  has  been 
due  not  so  much  to  unusual  devotion,  perhaps,  as  to 
the  fact  that  everything  has  been  done  on  a  business 
basis.  I  wonder  if  any  one  will  ever  compile  statis- 
tics with  regard  to  the  number  of  pajamas,  bandages, 
bed  jackets,  fracture  pillows,  lounging-robes,  slippers, 
underwear,  sweaters,  socks,  and  various  other  neces- 
sities that  have  been  turned  out  by  the  women  of 
the  world  in  volunteer  service  during  the  past  four 
years.  And  will  any  one  ever  try  to  estimate  the 
value  of  this  work?  It  is  beyond  calculation. 

63 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

The  Women's  Branch  also  accumulates  and  dis- 
tributes both  in  Mesopotamia  and  East  Africa  all 
kinds  of  toilet  articles  and  small  things  of  conven- 
ience and  comfort  that  soldiers  like  and  need  and 
that  are  not  included  in  their  regular  equipment. 
And  there  is  a  department  devoted  to  the  accumu- 
lation and  distribution  of  periodicals  and  libraries. 
Altogether  a  most  admirable  institution. 

Another  thing  which  has  been  undertaken  with 
great  earnestness  and  with  promise  of  justifying 
success  is  the  training  of  disabled  Indian  soldiers  in 
profitable  trades.  The  pension  of  the  disabled  soldier 
is  very  liberal  considering  the  average  earning  capac- 
ity of  the  average  Indian,  so  he  is  fairly  well  off  to 
begin  with.  But  it  is  the  idleness  of  the  incapacitated 
man  that  is  to  be  dreaded  more  than  the  possibility 
of  his  ever  being  in  actual  need.  So  the  Queen 
Mary's  Technical  School  for  Indian  Soldiers  was 
established  and  now  has  enrolled  a  large  and  very 
interesting  company  of  men;  men  who  are  blind, 
armless,  legless,  and  maimed  in  every  imaginable 
way,  and  who  are  learning  to  do  things  that  will 
keep  them  employed  if  they  wish  and  add  consid- 
erably to  their  resources. 

Some  are  learning  to  operate  looms  of  one  kind 
or  another;  some  make  artificial  flowers;  some 
raise  chickens;  some  who  have  both  arms  but  are 
legless  go  in  for  work  on  different  kinds  of  electrical 
apparatus;  and  a  large  number  are  learning  to 
use  hose-knitting  machines.  It  is  only  within 
recent  years  that  millions  of  Indians  have  begun 
to  wear  socks,  but  they  wear  them  now — with 
garments  which  bear  no  resemblance  to  trousers 
and  which  do  not  cover  their  calf -clasping  garters — 

64 


AN  INTERESTING  BUT  ANXIOUS  INTERVAL 

and  the  business  of  knitting  socks  can  be  very 
profitable.  Each  disabled  soldier  who  cares  to  go 
in  for  knitting  socks  is  given  a  machine  which  be- 
comes his  personal  property. 

Eventually  I  began  to  fear  that  I  was  quite  right 
when  I  assured  myself  that  it  was  not  even  remotely 
possible  that  I  would  be  permitted  to  go  to  Baghdad. 
Why  should  General  Maude  make  of  me  a  conspicu- 
ous exception  to  his  unalterable  rule?  During  the 
first  two  weeks  of  waiting  I  had  an  unwavering 
faith  that  eventually  he  would,  but  I  was  practically 
alone  in  my  optimism. 

Then  the  third  week  began  to  drag  along  and  not 
a  word  of  any  kind  had  come  out  of  Mesopotamia. 
Many  of  my  new-found  friends  began  to  look 
pleased  and  to  give  expression  to  their  sympathies 
with  a  confident  finality  of  tone  which  drove  me 
to  looking  up  routes  to  Kashmir.  Also  I  had  an 
official  invitation  to  visit  the  capital  of  the  Mahara- 
jah of  Mysore,  and  that  sounded  almost  sufficiently 
alluring  to  relieve  in  some  degree  my  pangs  of  dis- 
appointment. Had  it  not  been  for  the  old  adage 
about  no  news  being  good  news  I  should  have  given 
up  hope  long  before  I  did. 

Though  I  did  have  one  friend  who  shared  my 
faith  to  some  extent.  Brigadier-General  Stukely 
St.  John,  the  port  commandant,  was  convinced  that 
there  was  no  reason  on  earth  why  I  should  not  be 
permitted  to  go,  and  that,  therefore —  I  regarded 
him  as  a  most  unusually  intelligent  and  broad- 
minded  man. 

He  gave  me  the  freedom  of  his  wonderful  docks, 
and  I  spent  many  profitable  hours  in  the  midst  of 

65 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

the  interesting  operations  which  he  directs.  I  saw 
troops  off  to  Mesopotamia  and  troops  returning; 
I  watched  on  several  occasions  the  orderly  and 
noiseless  disembarkation  of  ship-loads  of  sick  and 
wounded  men;  I  went  through  acres  of  freight-sheds 
packed  to  capacity  with  materials  of  war  and  ex- 
amined innumerable  card  indexes  and  files  of  various 
kinds  in  an  endeavor  to  learn  something  about  the 
scope  of  the  supply  and  transport  end  of  the  busi- 
ness of  war.  And  everything  I  learned  served  to 
strengthen  my  desire  to  follow  the  lines  on  up  to 
the  far-away  battle-front. 

One  morning  I  went  down  early  to  have  break- 
fast with  the  general  and  a  fine  old  Australian  skip- 
per who  was  taking  on  a  load  of  cavalry  horses. 
They  thought  I  would  appreciate  an  opportunity  to 
observe  the  bewildering  variety  of  dispositions  that 
horses  display  on  such  an  occasion.  I  did.  And  I 
had  a  most  interesting  forenoon.  But  just  before 
I  left  the  ship  the  skipper  showed  me  a  nice  big 
empty  cabin  and  said  what  a  pity  it  was  I  had  not 
got  permission  to  go  to  Mesopotamia.  Otherwise 
I  might  have  occupied  that  cabin  up  the  Persian 
Gulf.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  commandant  had 
been  reserving  cabins  for  me  quite  regularly. 

•  On  the  twenty-second  day  of  waiting  my  faith 
deserted  me  and  I  began  at  once  to  make  rather 
precise  arrangements  to  do  something  else — the 
while  I  struggled  with  an  effort  to  dismiss  from  my 
mind  Mesopotamia  and  all  its  works. 

I  went  into  the  big  hotel  dining-room  for  lunch- 
eon, and  the  first  person  I  saw  was  General  St. 
John.  I  was  passing  his  table  with  a  casual  greeting 

66 


when  he  rose  to  his  feet,  thrust  his  hand  into  a 
pocket  of  his  tunic,  and  drew  out  a  folded  paper. 
He  handed  it  to  me  with  a  kind  of  "we  win"  smile 
and  the  superfluous  comment: 

"I  think  this  may  interest  you." 

It  did.  At  the  moment  the  only  thing  in  it  that 
I  was  able  to  grasp  was  the  word  "permission."  It 
was  a  decoded  message — marked  "secret,"  for  some 
reason — and  it  had  come  to  His  Excellency,  the 
governor,  from  the  chief  of  the  General  Staff  at 
Simla,  who  had  received  it  from  General  Maude 
through  London!  It  bore  the  indorsement  of  the 
chief  of  the  Imperial  General  Staff !  When  I  realized 
what  a  gantlet  my  poor  little  request  had  had  to 
run  I  said  to  myself: 

"Well,  no  wonder  it  took  twenty-two  days!" 


CHAPTER  V 

TO  THE  REMOTEST   ZONE 

IT  was  Thursday.  General  St.  John  told  me  that 
a  cabin  would  be  reserved  for  me  on  a  troop-ship 
sailing  Saturday  at  noon,  and  I  spent  the  interven- 
ing forty-eight  hours  unmaking  all  the  other  plans 
I  had  made  and  in  getting  ready  for  what  proved 
to  be  an  experience  as  extraordinary  as  could  pos- 
sibly be  imagined. 

My  preliminary  arrangements  for  making  this 
trip  may  be  neither  interesting  nor  important  to 
anybody  but  myself,  but  to  me  they  were  both  of 
these  things,  exceedingly.  I  was  about  to  start  en- 
tirely alone  for  regions  which  even  in  Bombay  seemed 
rather  dismally  remote,  and  I  had  no  definite  idea 
really  where  or  in  whose  hands  I  should  land. 

Though  what  with  all  the  importance  that  had 
been  attached  to  my  going  I  felt — along  with  an 
uncomfortable  sense  of  unworthiness — a  certain 
assurance  that  I  would  be  taken  care  of.  About 
the  only  advice  I  got  from  officer  friends  who  had 
served  in  Mesopotamia  was: 

"Take  everything  you  can  think  of  that  you  are 
in  the  least  likely  to  need,  because  up  there  there  is 
literally  nothing." 

68 


TO  THE  REMOTEST  ZONE 

In  Bombay  they  call  it  Mesopot.  Few  persons 
ever  take  time  to  say  Mesopotamia.  Which  is  not 
to  be  wondered  at,  since  the  English  have  an  in- 
veterate habit  of  nicknaming  everything.  When 
everything  in  Mesopotamia  was  confusion  and  de- 
feat, during  the  awful  period  when  General  Town- 
shend  was  besieged  at  Kut-el-Amara,  Mesopot  was 
thought  to  be  a  curiously  appropriate  contraction. 
It  is  spoken  now,  however,  without  a  shade  of 
meaningful  emphasis. 

Getting  ready  to  go  involved  the  accumulation 
of  a  number  of  things,  including  a  field  kit  of  bed 
and  bedding  and  such  camp  furniture  as  I  was  likely 
to  need — and  a  servant.  Accumulating  a  servant 
was  rather  difficult. 

Vilayat  refused  to  go.  When  I  told  him  to  pre- 
pare himself  for  a  journey  up  through  the  waters 
where  the  deadly  mine  is  strewn  and  on  to  the  days- 
and-days-away  place  whence  come  the  men  who 
keep  always  full  the  ten  thousand  hospital  beds  in 
Bombay,  he  first  got  rheumatism  in  his  right  knee — 
oh,  an  awful  pain! — and  then  remembered  that  he 
was  a  "family  man."  No,  he  would  not  go,  not  for 
three  times  as  much  as  he  was  ever  paid  in  his  life. 

It  was  pretty  short  notice.  Even  if  I  had  had 
nothing  else  to  do,  there  was  not  time  enough  left 
to  sift  the  population  in  a  search  for  another  man. 
But  it  had  to  be  done.  And  I  did  not  find  it  an 
uninteresting  game. 

I  learned,  for  one  thing,  that  in  India  no  "family 
man"  should  ever  be  expected  to  take  risks.  Word 
was  sent  to  several  employment  agencies  that  I  was 
looking  for  a  servant,  and  within  an  hour  a  flock 
of  applicants  had  gathered  in  the  corridor  outside 

6  69 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

my  door.  There  was  a  sample,  I  think,  of  every  kind 
of  Indian  the  country  produces.  There  were  Hindus, 
Mohammedans,  Christians,  and  what  not;  high 
caste  and  low  caste  and  wholly  untouchable;  clean 
and  unclean;  well-dressed  and  miserably  clad;  tall 
and  short;  black,  yellow,  and  brown;  and  every 
one  of  them  was  armed  with  the  usual  sheaf  of  let- 
ters which  I  was  expected  to  read  and  accept  at 
their  face  value. 

Some  of  the  applicants  were  suitable  enough,  but 
every  one  I  looked  upon  with  any  degree  of  favor 
turned  out  to  be  a  "family  man."  As  soon  as  they 
learned  that  I  was  going  to  Mesopotamia  they  sud- 
denly remembered  their  wives  and  children,  clutched 
their  precious  letters  out  of  my  hands,  and  backed 
away.  Not  one  of  them  would  go.  Moreover,  I 
was  assured  by  friends  that  it  was  a  hopeless  quest. 

I  was  about  to  give  up  in  despair  when  Ezekiel 
came  along.  Ezekiel  is  a  family  man,  too,  but  he 
comes  from  Pondicherry  and  boasts  that  his  grand- 
father was  a  Frenchman,  so  he  regards  the  ways  of 
the  mere  Indian  with  considerable  contempt.  In 
addition  to  which  he  was  stamped  with  a  certain 
glory  for  having  been  to  Mesopot  before.  He  was 
servant  to  an  army  officer  during  the  first  year  of 
the  war,  and  in  the  first  paragraph  of  his  essay  on 
himself  he  always  refers  to  "my  regiment."  It 
never  bores  him  in  the  least  to  tell  in  detail  about 
how  valorous  he  and  it  proved  themselves  to  be. 
And  with  me  he  never  made  capital  out  of  his 
domestic  responsibilities  except  on  the  frequent  oc- 
casions when  I  threatened  to  discharge  him  for  being 
the  worst  servant  who  ever  got  paid  for  making  a 
general  muddle  of  things.  On  such  occasions  he  was 

70 


TO  THE  REMOTEST  ZONE 

wont  to  drag  out  an  old  flat  wallet  in  which  he  car- 
ried a  photograph  of  an  interesting  family  group. 
And  there  was  one  "wee  one — ver'  white — got 
French  blood — curly  hair — oh,  lady  sahib! — we  go 
back  Bombay — I  bring — you  see!"  That  was 
Ezekiel. 

I  should  not  regard  it  as  a  calamity  if  I  had  to  do 
all  my  traveling  on  British  troop-ships.  When  you 
wish  to  convey  a  general  sum-up  of  the  environment 
of  an  Englishman  who  is  provided  with  every  com- 
fort and  convenience  that  any  reasonable  man  could 
reasonably  require,  you  say: 

"He  does  himself  rather  well." 

And  the  Englishman  does  himself  exceedingly 
well  when  he  goes  to  war.  Not  that  he  is  incapable 
of  going  to  war  unprovided  and  exposed  to  all  the 
hardships  there  are — he  has  done  that  in  Mesopo- 
tamia— but  he  can  be  trusted  by  his  worrying  wife 
or  mother  to  eliminate  the  hardships  as  rapidly  as 
possible,  and  he  does  not  consider  a  fondness  for 
comfortable  surroundings  a  sign  of  weakness. 

The  trooper  I  traveled  on  was  built  for  the  trade 
routes  in  the  Bay  of  Bengal  and  used  to  ply  between 
Calcutta  and  Singapore,  with  stops  at  Rangoon  and 
Penang  on  the  way.  She  is  not  very  large.  But 
she  is  seaworthy  and  has  ample  spaces  between- 
decks.  These  spaces  were  once  used  for  cargo,  but 
they  have  been  made  habitable  now  with  rows  upon 
rows  of  bunks  and  berths.  Many  baths  have  been 
built  in,  and  there  are  large  mess-rooms  for  British 
troops. 

Officers'  quarters  are  amidships  on  the  main  deck 
and  are  the  selfsame  cabins  that  American  tourists 

71 


probably  complained  about  in  years  gone  by  when 
only  tourists  were  catered  to  and  when  the  armored- 
cruiser  variety  of  cockroach  was  thought  in  Eastern 
seas  to  be  among  the  necessary  evils,  along  with  un- 
holy smells  and  the  unrestricted  disorderliness  of 
lower-deck  passengers.  There  is  nothing  like  that 
now.  No  insects  of  any  kind,  no  unnecessary 
odors,  and  no  confusion  at  all.  The  well-being  of  the 
troops  is  the  first  consideration  of  the  authorities, 
and  on  a  troop-ship  one  lives  under  military  disci- 
pline and  enjoys  a  consequent  maximum  of  comfort. 

After  bestowing  myself  in  the  cabin  reserved  for 
me,  I  climbed  to  the  spotless  upper  deck  to  watch 
the  men  come  aboard.  There  were  more  than  a 
thousand  of  them — three  hundred  and  fifty  Tom- 
mies and  the  others  Indian  troops.  And  it  really 
seemed,  as  they  came  in  unbroken  line  up  the  sloping 
gangway,  like  going  off  to  the  war.  Everything  was 
so  methodical  that  there  was  not  even  a  sound 
above  the  ordinary  hum  of  quiet  talk,  and  the  em- 
barkation proceedings  were  over  and  done  with 
before  one  realized  that  they  had  more  than  begun. 
We  had  only  to  wait  for  final  inspection  before 
casting  off. 

The  embarkation  officers  in  the  port  of  Bombay 
all  wear  big  red  or  green  silk  pompoms  on  their 
helmets  and  are  very  smart  in  their  get-up  generally, 
the  embarkation  service  being  among  the  things 
to  which  the  busy  war-working  population  of  the 
city  likes  to  "point  with  pride." 

Incidentally  it  is  the  hardest-worked  service  con- 
nected in  any  way  with  military  operations.  Every 
dock  in  the  snug  inner  harbor — and  they  measure 
thousands  of  feet — was  crowded  with  supply-ships, 

72 


TO  THE  REMOTEST  ZONE 

hospital-ships,  ana  transports,  while  in  the  wide 
outer  harbor  lay  many  more  at  anchor,  waiting  for 
vacated  berths.  But  the  men  who  are  doing  this 
work  have  achieved  an  admirable  orderliness  and 
nobody  ever  seems  to  be  in  a  hurry  about  anything. 
It  is  just  that  the  movement  never  stops. 

A  transport  with  a  thousand  troops  aboard,  as 
well  as  army  officers,  ship's  officers,  medical  officers, 
coolie  corps,  and  crew,  is  a  haven  of  peace.  One 
would  expect  it  to  be  a  kind  of  bedlam.  It  is  not. 
Hour  by  hour  I  sat  on  deck  reading,  and  hearing  not 
a  sound  but  the  throb  of  the  engines  and  the  back- 
ward wash  of  the  sea  against  the  ship's  sides.  Yet 
wherever  I  looked  there  were  uniformed  figures. 
There  were  a  great  many  junior  officers — very  jun- 
ior, some  of  them — who  behaved  with  a  sedateness 
to  be  expected  perhaps  of  early  youth  burdened 
with  grave  responsibilities.  They  stretched  them- 
selves out  in  cool  corners  and  slept  the  hours  away, 
or  they  sat  in  groups  flat  on  the  deck,  playing  cards. 

A  few  senior  officers  more  or  less  monopolized 
the  little  library  and  whiled  away  the  time  at  bridge. 
Once  in  a  while  on  the  decks  forward,  where  the 
British  boys  were  located,  a  number  of  fresh  young 
voices  would  be  lifted  in  close  harmony,  or  a  shout 
of  infectious  laughter  would  float  up  to  the  regions 
of  the  exalted  where  I  dwelt,  but  not  often. 

The  Indian  troops  were  bestowed  aft  and  be- 
tween-decks,  and  they  gave  the  junior  officers  some- 
thing occasionally  to  do.  There  were  so  many  of 
them  that  they  could  not  all  be  on  deck  at  the  same 
time,  so  they  had  to  be  exercised  in  squads.  They 
did  not  like  it,  the  officers  told  me,  and  would  have 

73 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

preferred  to  lie  in  their  bunks  the  week  through, 
but  they  boarded  the  ship  in  the  pink  of  condi- 
tion and  keeping  them  fit  was  a  part  of  the  day's 
work. 

Our  Indians  belonged  to  what  is  known  as  a 
mixed  regiment,  part  Mohammedan  and  part 
Hindu.  And  this  kind  of  mixture  complicates  the 
business  of  the  quartermaster's  department  in  an 
extraordinary  way.  In  order  to  avoid  the  defilement 
which  a  man  of  one  faith  would  inflict  upon  a  man 
of  the  other  by  touching  his  food  they  have  to  have 
separate  commissariat  arrangements  all  the  way 
through  from  training-camp  to  battle-field.  They 
will  train  together  and  fight  together,  but  that  is 
the  extent  of  their  association.  So  it  happens  that 
they  have  to  have  separate  galleys  on  the  troop- 
ships. Those  on  our  ship  were  very  interesting. 
They  were  common  kitchen  ranges  strung  along 
the  rails  of  the  well-deck  aft,  with  ordinary  stove- 
pipe hung  on  wire  and  projecting  rather  grotesquely 
out  over  the  sides  just  under  the  canvas  awning. 
They  imparted  to  the  ship  a  kind  of  gipsy  air  wholly 
out  of  keeping  with  her  serious  business. 

To  add  a  touch  of  completeness  to  the  Sabbath- 
like  calm  which  prevailed  on  the  ship  I  read  the 
Bible.  Becoming  intensely  interested,  I  tried  to 
read  it  through  in  twenty-four  hours.  This  cannot 
be  done.  Incidentally,  I  had  some  difficulty  in 
finding  one.  It  is  a  sign  of  the  times,  I  am  afraid, 
that  one  never  gets  a  Bible  any  more  as  a  going-away 
present  when  one  starts  off  on  a  long  journey. 
Though  I  might  better  say,  perhaps,  that  it  was  a 
sign  of  unintelligence  on  my  part  that  I  did  not 

74 


TO  THE  REMOTEST  ZONE 

think  to  carry  with  me  one  of  several  that  were  be- 
stowed upon  me  in  godlier  days. 

I  was  going  to  Baghdad,  was  I  not?  When  I 
left  New  York  I  believed  I  was.  I  was  on  my  way 
to  the  Land  of  the  Two  Rivers;  the  land  of  the 
Garden  of  Eden;  "the  Cradle  of  the  World"!  It 
is  the  land  not  only  of  Adam  and  Eve  and  Cain  and 
Abel,  but  the  land  as  well  of  Noah  and  Father 
Abraham;  the  land  of  Babylonia  where  Daniel 
dwelt  in  captivity  with  the  Children  of  Israel  and 
was  delivered  from  the  den  of  lions  because  he 
served  his  God  continually;  the  land  where  Shad- 
rach,  Meshach,  and  Abednego  were  cast  into  the 
furnace  heated  "one  seven  times  more  than  it  was 
wont  to  be  heated"  and  were  delivered  without 
hurt  because  they  would  "not  serve  nor  worship 
any  god  except  their  own  God";  a  land  about 
which  no  book  has  ever  been  written  that  does  not 
bristle  with  references  to  Genesis,  to  Ezra  and  the 
Chronicles  and  the  Kings,  to  Samuel  and  Daniel 
and  Jeremiah.  So  I  might  have  known  that  a 
Bible  would  be  absolutely  necessary  to  me  if  I  ex- 
pected to  look  upon  anything  with  eyes  of  intelli- 
gence. 

Parenthetically,  I  should  like  to  remark  that 
being  chaplain  to  troops  serving  in  Mesopotamia  is 
about  the  easiest  billet  a  man  could  possibly  have. 
His  sermons  are  all  ready  made  for  him.  Talk  about 
sermons  in  stones,  books  in  the  running  brooks! 
There  is  a  sermon  in  every  glint  of  sunlight  on  the 
Mesopotamian  desert;  in  every  mound  of  sand  that 
covers  an  ancient  ruin;  in  every  bend  and  ripple  of 
the  rivers  Tigris  and  Euphrates. 

I  found  a  Bible  finally,  hidden  away  with  the 
75 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

hymnals  and  the  prayer-books  in  a  wainscot  cup- 
board of  the  little  library,  and,  while  I  intended 
merely  to  get  the  stories  of  Babylon  and  of  Ur  of 
the  Chaldees,  I  became  engrossed  in  the  story  of 
the  Children  of  Israel  and  followed  it  all  the  way 
through.  Then  I  had  to  read  the  Prophets,  and,  hav- 
ing pondered  over  their  prophecies,  I  was  tempted 
to  re-examine  the  fulfilment  of  them.  And  after- 
ward I  was  very  glad  I  did.  It  refreshed  my  mem- 
ory of  many  things  I  had  thought  little  about  since 
the  days  of  my  youth. 

In  Mesopotamia  you  live  the  story  of  the  Bible, 
and  you  do  not  wonder  in  the  least  if  it  is  true; 
you  know  it  is.  You  become  as  definitely  acquainted 
with  Daniel  and  Ezra;  yes,  and  with  Adam  and 
Eve  and  Cain  and  Abel  and  Noah  and  Abraham 
and  Hagar  and  Ishmael — especially  Hagar  and 
Ishmael — and  a  thousand  others,  as  though  they 
were  alive  to-day.  And  in  a  way  they  are.  As  they 
have  come  down  to  us  through  the  ages  in  tradition 
and  picture  they  are  exact  prototypes  of  the  men 
who  now  inhabit  that  ancient  land. 

We  came  at  last  into  the  Gulf  of  Oman,  with  the 
coasts  of  Sinde  and  Baluchistan  on  one  side  and 
the  Arabian  peninsula  on  the  other.  And  it  was  like 
stealing  silently  through  a  great  silence.  The  glassy, 
glaring  surface  of  the  sea  was  disturbed  by  nothing 
but  an  occasional  flying-fish  leaping  out  of  the  ship's 
path  and  skimming  away  to  safety.  The  distant 
shores — rugged,  precipitous,  and  forbidding — were 
like  imagined  abodes  of  the  dead.  And  even  the 
fishing-junks  were  lifeless.  They  lay  becalmed  on 
every  side,  widely  scattered  over  the  sea;  high- 

76 


TO  THE  REMOTEST  ZONE 

prowed,  heavy-hulled — of  another  age  than  this — 
with  great  brown  sails  hanging  limp  on  slanting 
masts. 

Over  to  the  westward  on  the  Arabian  side  lay 
Muskat.  We  could  not  see  it,  but  we  knew  it  was 
there — a  British  naval  station  prickly  with  un- 
pleasant memories.  We  knew  all  about  the  scorch- 
ing, soul-withering  dreadfulness  of  it  and  about  the 
gaunt,  jagged  cliffs  that  ring  its  harbor.  On  the 
sheer  outward  wall  of  one  of  these  is  carved  the 
name  of  every  British  fighting-ship  that  ever  sailed 
or  steamed  this  way. 

Motionless  we  seemed  to  lie  in  the  midst  of  a 
world  that  had  halted  to  the  command:  Peace! 
Be  still !  But  we  were  moving  slowly  onward  and 
eventually  rounded  a  sharp  headland  on  the  Ara- 
bian coast  and  came  into  the  Persian  Gulf.  They 
were  storied  waters  we  were  steaming  through; 
waters  that  have  sent  back  crackling  echoes  to 
many  a  gun. 

British  "occupation"  of  lower  Mesopotamia  and 
the  country  immediately  round  the  Persian  Gulf 
antedates  the  war  by  several  centuries,  and  the  story 
of  it  begins  with  the  dislodgment  of  the  Portuguese 
from  the  now  deserted  island  of  Hormuz.  If  I  ever 
knew,  I  have  forgotten  why  the  Portuguese  had  to 
be  dislodged.  But  those  were  the  days  of  uncharted 
seas  and  of  merchant  adventurers  who  sailed  them 
in  search  of  adventure  and  who  needed  little  excuse 
for  warlike  demonstration. 

The  British  East  India  Company  had  reached  a 
trade  agreement  with  the  Shah  of  Persia,  and  one 
naturally  supposes  that  the  Portuguese  sought  to 

77 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

interfere  with  the  legitimate  advance  of  British 
interests.  The  only  easily  rememberable  item  in 
connection  with  the  first  British  engagement  in  the 
gulf  is  that  one  of  the  two  Englishmen  who  lost 
their  lives  in  it  was  William  Baffin,  the  discoverer 
of  Baffin  Bay. 

"Master  Baffin  went  on  shore  with  his  geomet- 
rical instruments  for  the  better  leveling  of  his  piece 
to  make  his  shot,"  writes  a  contemporary  corre- 
spondent, "but  as  he  was  about  the  same  he  re- 
ceived a  small  shot  from  the  Castle  into  his  belly, 
wherewith  he  gave  three  leapes,  by  report,  and  died 
immediately." 

And  so  passed  William  Baffin.  This  dramatic 
small  incident  could  hardly  be  improved  upon  as  a 
beginning  of  England's  dramatic  record  in  this  part 
of  the  world,  and  it  might  interest  Master  Baffin 
to  know  that  the  desolate  coast  of  his  last  earthly 
vision  is  now  landmarked  for  Englishmen  by  many 
tragic,  mud-walled,  small  God's  acres  filled  with 
white  crosses  and  shafts  of  marble  brought  from 
over  the  seas  he  sailed.  It  is  said  that  at  many  a 
point  on  the  shores  of  the  Persian  Gulf  "the  dead 
alone  guard  the  colors  that  are  being  borne  afresh 
in  Mesopotamia  to-day." 

For  generations  the  favorite  occupations  of  the 
coast  Arabs  in  these  regions  have  been  piracy,  slave- 
trading,  and  gun-running.  And  it  must  be  taken 
into  consideration  that  Turkey's  notoriety  for  in- 
iquitous governmental  methods  is  no  new  thing  and 
that  Turkish  overlordship  in  the  Arabian  peninsula 
has  never  been  a  success.  It  has  never  been  a  suc- 
cess up  along  the  Tigris  and  Euphrates,  either,  but 
in  those  regions  there  has  been  some  semblance  of 

78 


TO  THE  REMOTEST  ZONE 

control.  At  Basra  and  at  points  above  there  have 
always  been  Turkish  pashas  representing  the  Sub- 
lime Porte  as  resident  governors,  and  they  have 
been  backed  by  military  garrisons. 

Below  Basra  there  are  two  great  divisions  of  the 
Arab  peoples.  They  are  themselves  divided  into 
many  tribes  and  tribal  groups,  but  are  allied  in 
strong  confederations — on  the  Mesopotamian  side 
of  the  gulf  to  resist  Turkish  aggression,  and  on  the 
Persian  side  to  resist  Persian  interference  with 
ancient  rights  and  liberties — and  they  have  never 
acknowledged  any  authority  except  that  of  their 
own  sheikhs. 

The  two  most  important  of  these  Arab  chieftains 
are  the  Sheikh  of  Kuweit  and  the  Sheikh  of  Muham- 
merah,  and  if  these  two  had  not  been  lifelong  friends 
of  Britain,  upholding  a  traditional  friendship  of 
their  fathers  before  them,  the  occupation  of  Meso- 
potamia by  British  troops  would  have  been  much 
more  difficult. 

The  principality  of  the  Sheikh  of  Kuweit — ex- 
tending one  hundred  and  sixty  miles  in  one  direc- 
tion and  one  hundred  and  ninety  miles  in  another — 
lies  on  the  Mesopotamian  side  of  the  upper  gulf  and 
has  been  ruled  by  the  family  of  the  patriarchal  old 
Jabir-ibn-Mubarak,  who  rules  it  now,  since  the 
middle  of  the  seventeenth  century. 

The  territories  of  the  Sheikh  of  Muhammerah 
are  in  Persian  Arabistan,  just  across  on  the  other 
side,  and  together  these  two  picturesque  rulers  can 
provide  a  force  of  fifty-odd  thousand  men  armed 
with  good  serviceable  rifles.  They  have  provided 
no  force  to  support  the  British,  but  they  easily  could 
have  provided  such  a  force  to  oppose  them  had 

79 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

they  been  persuaded  to  ally  themselves  with  the 
Turks. 

But  it  is  due  almost  entirely  to  England's  friendly 
assistance  in  the  past  that  these  sheikhs  are  what 
they  are  and  that  they  are  able  to  exercise  even  a 
partial  control  over  their  numerous  and  turbulent 
tribes. 

It  was  to  the  interest  of  everybody  economically 
concerned  in  the  regions  round  about,  and  especially 
of  the  Sheikh  of  Kuweit,  that  piracy  should  be  sup- 
pressed in  the  Persian  Gulf.  Pearling  is  one  of  the 
chief  pursuits  of  the  coast  Arabs — there  being  the 
two  wonderful  little  islands  of  Bahrein  and  Mubarak 
just  south  of  Kuweit,  the  pearl  fisheries  of  which 
have  netted  their  owners  in  a  good  year  as  much 
as  half  a  million  pounds  sterling — and  in  the  pearling 
season,  particularly,  the  upper  gulf  has  always  been 
a  pirates'  paradise. 

Turkey  could  not  patrol  these  waters,  though, 
considering  her  claim  to  sovereignty  over  them,  it 
was  her  business  to  do  so.  The  Arab  sheikhs  had 
no  naval  vessels  of  any  kind,  and  Persia  was  help- 
less. It  therefore  fell  to  the  lot  of  England  to  police 
the  gulf,  just  as  it  has  fallen  to  the  lot  of  England 
to  police  nearly  all  the  otherwise  unpoliced  waters 
of  the  earth. 

From  the  beginning  British  influence  rapidly  in- 
creased, this  being  due  not  so  much  to  the  greater 
energy  and  enterprise  of  the  English  traders  as  to 
the  fact  that  England  was  willing  to  undertake  the 
establishment  and  maintenance  of  peaceful  condi- 
tions in  the  ports  and  the  safeguarding  of  navigation 
in  the  gulf.  English  influence  with  the  Mesopo- 
tamian  peoples  has  been  the  result  of  nothing  but 

80 


TO  THE  REMOTEST  ZONE 

the  honorable  and  generally  satisfactory  discharge 
on  England's  part  of  tremendous  responsibilities. 

During  the  whole  of  the  nineteenth  century  the 
British  army  and  navy  were  used  unsparingly  hi  a 
never-ending  effort  to  suppress  the  notorious  slave- 
trade  with  the  east  coast  of  Africa.  But  it  is  a 
notable  fact  that  before  mere  British  supremacy  of 
influence  gave  way  in  1914  to  absolute  British  con- 
trol in  the  gulf,  the  iniquitous  traffic  in  human 
beings  was  by  no  means  extinct.  And  to  realize 
the  extent  of  slavery  in  all  parts  of  Arabia,  Mesopo- 
tamia, and  Persia  one  has  only  to  observe  the  evi- 
dence of  African  blood  in  vast  numbers  of  the 
people  and  the  presence  among  the  tribes  of  innu- 
merable black  human  beasts  of  burden. 

Mesopotamia  is  inhabited  solely  by  Arab  tribes, 
and  the  Arabs  are  all  Mohammedans.  But  the 
Mohammedans  of  the  world  are  divided  into  two 
main  sects  by  irreconcilable  differences  of  religious 
opinion;  sects  which  in  Mesopotamia  have  in- 
dulged in  innumerable  fearful  contests  for  su- 
premacy, all  of  which  have  tended  to  sink  the 
country  further  and  further  into  moral  ruin  and 
material  exhaustion. 

The  two  great  Mohammedan  sects  are  the  Sun- 
nis  and  the  Shiahs.  The  Sunnis  acknowledge  the 
succession  of  the  first  four  Khaliphs  and  the  right 
of  the  Sultan  of  Turkey  to  the  spiritual  and  tem- 
poral predominance  bequeathed  by  the  Prophet, 
and  the  greatest  tribe  of  Sunni  Arabs  in  Mesopo- 
tamia and  eastern  Arabia — the  Muntafik — joined 
the  Turks  at  the  beginning  of  the  war  and  have 
succeeded,  by  frequent  raids  and  constant  guerrilla 

81 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

warfare,  in  making  things  very  unpleasant  at  times 
for  the  British  on  the  River  Euphrates. 

But  the  Shiahs  deny  the  succession  of  the  first 
four  Khaliphs  and  recognize  as  the  true  heir  of  the 
Prophet  the  Imam  Ali,  who  married  Mohammed's 
daughter  Fatima.  The  sons  of  Fatima,  Al-Hasan 
and  AI-Husein,  rebelled  against  the  Khaliphate 
and,  according  to  Shiah  belief,  were  treacherously 
slain.  They  became  the  martyrs  of  the  Shiah  sect 
and  the  anniversary  of  their  death  became  the 
principal  Shiah  Mohammedan  holy  day.  It  is  cele- 
brated throughout  the  Shiah  world — which  includes 
a  large  part  of  Mohammedan  India — with  proces- 
sions of  mourning  and,  in  some  localities,  with  a 
frenzied  fanaticism  which  expresses  itself  in  self- 
flagellation  and  other  forms  of  self-torture,  and  in 
murderous  attacks  on  men  of  other  faiths.  The 
Shiahs,  of  course,  do  not  acknowledge  the  Sultan  of 
Turkey.  Rather  they  abhor  what  they  regard  as 
his  usurpation  of  a  holy  office.  And  a  fact  which 
relieves  the  British  situation  of  at  least  one  com- 
plication is  that  a  majority  of  the  Arabs  behind  the 
British  lines  in  Mesopotamia  are  Shiahs. 

The  holy  cities  of  the  Sunnis  are  Mecca  and 
Medina  in  western  Arabia,  while  the  chief  places 
of  devout  pilgrimage  for  the  Shiahs  are  Kerbela 
and  Nejef,  west  of  the  Euphrates  in  Mesopotamia. 
Kerbela  contains  the  tomb  of  the  martyr  Husein, 
while  the  sacred  shrine  of  Ali  is  at  Nejef.  And  these 
two  towns  are  now  in  the  hands  of  the  British,  who 
are  adepts  from  long  practice  in  the  gentle  art  of 
respecting  other  peoples'  beliefs. 

So  much  for  the  general  situation.    After  which 

82 


TO  THE  REMOTEST  ZONE 

the  German  intention.  It  is  known  that  for  twenty- 
five  years  or  more  the  Germans  have  been  laying 
foundations  and  developing  schemes  for  the  coloni- 
zation and  eventual  control  of  Mesopotamia  and 
the  lands  round  the  Persian  Gulf,  and  that  these 
schemes  carried  with  them  a  direct  threat  against 
British  supremacy  in  the  Indian  Empire. 

The  Kaiser  bought  the  concessions  involved  in 
the  Berlin-to-Baghdad  Railroad  project  by  condon- 
ing Abdul-Hamid's  fiendish  Armenian  atrocities  in 
the  Balkans.  At  that  time  every  self-respecting 
nation  on  the  face  of  the  earth  was  aghast  with 
horror  at  the  unbelievable  crimes  of  that  monstrous 
Turk,  but  we  now  know  the  Kaiser  believes  that 
certain  considerations  justify  the  massacre  of  inno- 
cents, and  we  know  that  by  expressing  this  belief  to 
the  Sultan  he  was  able  then  to  enter  into  a  broth- 
erly compact  with  him.  And  the  first  thing  England 
knew  her  influence  in  Constantinople  and  through- 
out Turkey  began  to  be  systematically  undermined, 
while  the  results  of  successful  German  diplomacy 
began  to  be  increasingly  evident. 

It  is  in  a  bright  white  light  revealing  many  things 
that  we  view  in  these  days  the  historic  visit  of  the 
Kaiser  to  the  Turkish  Empire  and  his  brother,  the 
Sultan,  when,  in  Damascus,  he  grandiloquently 
proclaimed  himself  the  "Defender  of  Islam."  All  of 
which  was  some  time  after  definite  German-Turkish 
intrigues  and  conspiracies  began  to  come  to  light 
and  some  time  after  it  was  realized  that  the  Berlin- 
to-Baghdad-and-beyond  Railroad  was  to  be  Ger- 
many's political  highway  to  the  Eastern  seas. 

The  first  conspiracy  of  any  consequence  was  in 
1903,  when  it  was  discovered  that,  simultaneously 

83 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

with  a  German  attempt  to  get  a  concession  for  a 
railway  terminus  at  Kuweit,  the  Turkish  govern- 
ment was  bringing  pressure  of  all  kinds  to  bear  upon 
the  independent  Sheikh  to  induce  him  to  accept 
Turkish  nationality  and  title  along  with  Turkish 
sovereignty  over  his  ancient  hereditary  domain. 
This  the  Sheikh  obstinately  refused  to  do,  refusing 
at  the  same  time  the  German  demand.  But  in  the 
face  of  an  eventual  Turkish  ultimatum  he  had  to 
appeal  to  his  old-time  British  friends  and  declare 
his  inability  to  maintain  his  position  without  their 
support. 

It  was  probably  in  no  altruistic  spirit  whatever 
that  the  British  responded.  A  German  invasion  of 
Kuweit,  with  the  inevitable  result  of  German  con- 
trol in  the  Persian  Gulf,  was  not  to  be  thought  of. 
And  so  it  happened  that  they  assured  the  Sheikh  of 
their  unfailing  support  and  declared  that  they  would 
tolerate  no  attack  upon  him  from  any  direction. 

The  British  senior  naval  officer  in  the  gulf  fleet 
drew  up  a  scheme  of  defense  and  landed  some  guns 
and  marines  to  augment  the  forces  of  the  Sheikh; 
then  they  sat  down  to  await  whatever  might  come 
to  pass.  But  the  Turks,  not  being  prepared  for 
anything  so  internationally  serious,  drew  back,  and 
the  incident  was  closed.  It  had  no  result  except 
that  it  strengthened  the  bond  between  Britain  and 
the  Arab  rulers.  Though  it  did  establish  a  kind 
of  recognized  status  for  everybody  concerned  which 
the  British  did  everything  humanly  possible  during 
the  ten  years  preceding  the  war  to  maintain. 

One  more  item  of  special  interest  and  importance: 
In  1901  an  Englishman,  Mr.  W.  K.  D'Arcy,  ob- 

84 


TO  THE  REMOTEST  ZONE 

tained  from  H.  R.  H.  the  Shah  a  concession  for 
working  petroleum  in  all  its  forms  in  southern 
Persia.  Mr.  D'Arcy  was  "playing  a  lone  hand." 
He  was  a  courageous  Englishman  and  he  spent 
large  sums  of  money  in  prospecting  from  one  field 
to  another,  but  without  success.  It  was  just  that 
he  had  unlimited  faith.  He  exhausted  his  original 
capital,  I  believe,  and  was  then  able  to  interest 
other  capital  in  Burma  and  India  as  well  as  in  Eng- 
land. He  went  on  prospecting,  and  eventually,  in 
1908,  he  discovered  the  long-sought-for  area  and 
tapped  what  proved  to  be  an  immense  and  prac- 
tically inexhaustible  oil-field.  This  field  is  in  Arabi- 
stan,  within  the  territories  over  which  the  Sheikh 
of  Muhammerah  exercises  control. 

The  waters  of  the  Tigris  and  Euphrates  join 
about  one  hundred  miles  above  the  head  of  the 
Persian  Gulf  and  flow  down  to  the  sea  in  a  mighty 
stream  called  the  Shatt-el-Arab.  And  in  the  mouth 
of  the  Shatt-el-Arab  lies  an  island  called  Abadan, 
on  which  the  Anglo-Persian  Oil  Company  estab- 
lished its  tanks  and  refineries.  Abadan  is  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  miles  from  the  oil-fields  in  Arabistan, 
so  a  double  pipe-line  was  laid  to  bring  the  product 
down,  and  the  newly  created  town  of  Abadan,  about 
midway  of  the  island,  rapidly  developed  into  a 
great  oil-shipping  port.  It  was  one  of  those  curious 
swift  developments  of  peace-times.  It  all  took 
place  after  1908,  and  by  1912  the  pipe-lines  and 
refineries  were  in  operation.  It  was  an  all-British 
concern  from  the  outset,  the  Persian  end  of  it  repre- 
senting nothing  by  way  of  capital,  but  enjoying  a 
great  deal  eventually  by  way  of  royalty. 

7  85 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

Then  early  in  1914  the  British  Admiralty  bought  a 
controlling  interest  in  the  enterprise  on  the  strength 
of  weighty  considerations  which  had  to  do  with  the 
increasing  use  of  oil  in  His  Majesty's  navy  and  the 
rather  extraordinary  trend  of  political  events  in  the 
immediate  vicinity.  The  Admiralty  was  roundly 
criticized  at  the  time  for  this  seemingly  unjustifiable 
extravagance,  but  it  was  about  the  only  bit  of  pre- 
paredness that  England  was  guilty  of,  and  justifica- 
tion has  since  been  overwhelmingly  abundant. 

Fuel  is  one  of  the  many  things  necessary  to  the 
successful  prosecution  of  a  war  which  Mesopotamia 
does  not  possess,  and  without  the  plentiful  supply 
of  it  close  at  hand  which  these  Persian  oil-fields 
fortunately  afford,  the  operations  of  the  Mesopo- 
tamian  Expeditionary  Force  would  have  been  much 
more  difficult  than  they  have  been,  and  they  have 
been  difficult  enough. 

There  is  a  bar  at  the  mouth  of  the  Shatt-el-Arab, 
a  great  barrier  of  silt  that  has  done  more  to  try  the 
souls  of  the  men  responsible  for  the  continuity  of 
supplies  and  communications  in  Mesopotamia  than 
any  other  one  thing.  On  account  of  it  all  ships, 
of  whatever  draught,  must  be  timed  with  reference 
to  the  tide,  while  the  larger  vessels  of  the  supply 
and  transport  fleet  cannot  cross  it  at  all  and  must 
stop  outside  while  their  cargoes  are  transferred  to 
river  steamboats  or  barges.  The  volume  of  desert 
sand  washed  down  by  the  river  is  so  great  that 
dredging  and  maintaining  a  deep  channel  is  thought 
to  be  an  operation  of  too  great  magnitude  to  be 
undertaken  as  anything  but  a  permanent  develop- 
ment. So  the  British  worry  along. 

86 


MESOPOTAMIA 

From  the  British  Army  Field  Map 


TO  THE  REMOTEST  ZONE 

Whether  or  not  we  should  "get  up  to  the  bar 
on  time"  was  a  subject  of  great  importance  and  of 
much  discussion.  If  we  did  not  we  should  be  held 
up  a  whole  day  in  the  glare  and  heat  of  the  upper 
gulf.  We  were  to  cross  the  bar  at  midnight — the 
sixth  and  the  last  night  from  Bombay — and  the 
skipper  assured  us  that  we  would  make  it  and  have 
a  good  hour  to  spare. 

But  in  my  little  book  of  occasional  notes  which 
always  intends  to  be  a  diary  and  never  is  I  find  two 
brief  items  to  remind  me  that,  small  as  our  old 
trooper  was,  we  had  some  difficulty  in  getting  over 
the  bar.  In  fact,  we  must  have  had  a  horrible  night. 

Says  the  note-book: 

12:30  A.M. — We  are  just  starting  over  the  bar.  The  engines 
have  stopped;  the  lead  is  being  cast;  a  musical  young  voice 
rings  out  in  the  silence,  calling  the  depths.  We  move  slowly 
under  our  own  headway.  A  final  cast;  the  distant  clang  of  an 
engine-room  signal;  the  engines  begin  to  throb  again  and  we 
are  under  way — very  slowly,  very  carefully. 

It  is  a  still,  hot  night,  with  not  a  fleck  or  ripple  even  in  the 
path  of  moonlight  which  lies  across  the  sea.  I  am  thinking 
that  for  many  a  young  man  aboard  this  ship  it  really  is  "cross- 
ing the  bar,"  so  many  of  them  are  likely  to  find  the  end  of 
youth  and  of  life  in  "the  cradle  of  the  world." 

Somewhat  later: 

3:00  A.M. — Going  over  the  bar  was  not  so  simple,  after  all. 
We  are  still  going  over,  and  the  old  ship  sounds  as  though  she 
would  break  into  a  thousand  pieces  at  any  moment.  I  won- 
der— !  But  they  wouldn't  do  it  if  they  didn't  think  they 
could!  We're  flat  in  the  mud,  no  doubt  about  that.  And  the 
feel  of  it  as  we  creep  along  inch  by  inch!  Oh — h-h!  Why  should 
a  ship  aground  feel  like  that? 

89 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

The  engines  pant  and  puff  for  a  few  moments;  then  they  are 
still  as  though  they  had  paused  for  rest.  There  is  a  powerful 
deep-sea-going  tug  on  either  side,  and  they  seem  to  be  tearing 
their  very  hearts  out.  We'll  never  do  it! 

But  of  course  we  did.  I  do  not  know  when  or 
how.  I  waked  up  in  the  midst  of  the  utmost 
placidity  and  managed  to  get  on  deck  just  as  we 
were  passing  the  town  of  Abadan. 

Having  heard  so  much  about  the  Anglo-Persian 
Oil  Company,  it  was  with  considerable  interest  and 
curiosity  that  I  looked  for  the  first  time  upon  the 
evidences  of  its  greatness.  A  forest  of  smoke-stacks 
and  acres  of  enormous  gray  tanks  could  hardly  be 
regarded  as  ornamental  in  an  otherwise  alluring 
landscape,  nor  would  an  ever-present  and  nicely 
blended  odor  of  oils  in  all  the  stages  of  refinement 
and  unrefinement  be  an  attraction  for  the  seeker 
after  a  desirable  place  of  residence.  But  when  the 
concomitant  of  such  undesirable  things  is  an  assur- 
ance, in  these  days  of  economic  severities,  of  a  plen- 
tiful supply  of  fuel  oil  and  gasolene  at  prices 
"within  the  easy  reach"  and  so  forth,  one  is  able 
to  look  upon  them  with  a  certain  degree  of  ap- 
proval. 

The  company  has  built  for  the  British  martyrs 
to  the  general  good  who  have  to  live  at  Abadan 
a  row  of  very  comfortable  residences  along  the  upper 
bank  of  the  river.  These  houses  are  more  or  less 
cheek  by  jowl  with  "the  works,"  to  be  sure,  but 
they  command  a  view  to  the  north  and  the  west- 
ward of  a  wide  sweep  of  palm-fringed  river  against  a 
background  of  gray  and  yellow  desert  unmarred  by 
oil-tanks  or  any  other  evidence  of  human  activity. 

Forty  miles  farther  up — about  sixty  miles  from 

90 


TO  THE  REMOTEST  ZONE 

the  mouth  of  the  Shatt-el-Arab — is  Basra,  the  port 
of  the  Mesopotamian  zone.  And  the  Shatt-el-Arab 
is  bordered  its  full  length  on  either  side  by  a  mile- 
wide  band  of  date-plantations,  the  tall  palms  being 
set  in  even  rows,  between  which  one  gets  glimpses 
into  deep,  green,  converging  distances.  In  places 
the  groves  thin  down  to  mere  river  fringes,  while 
an  occasional  isolated  giant  lifts  its  plumes  up  to 
the  blue  of  the  sky,  or  stately  groups,  unevenly 
grown  and  wind  bent,  are  etched  in  fascinating 
lines  against  a  desert  that  rolls  away  and  away  to 
the  ends  of  nowhere.  I  think  to  myself,  "I'm  going 
to  like  all  this!" 

But  then  I  remember  a  young  British  officer  in 
hospital  at  Bombay  who  had  just  come  down  with 
his  nerves  shredded  from  overwork  and  his  vitality 
all  burned  up  with  sand-fly  fever.  He  said  to  me : 

"Can't  see  why  anybody  should  want  to  go  to 
Mesopot!  Except,  of  course,  that  you  are  going  on 
up  to  Baghdad.  That  may  be  worth  while,  though 
I  doubt  it.  Never  been  to  Baghdad  myself.  No 
such  luck!  The  army's  no  tourist  party,  you  know. 
I've  had  to  stick  to  coolie  corps  and  mule-depots 
at  Basra.  Still,  I  suppose  somebody's  got  to." 

An  expression  crossed  his  face  which  conveyed  to 
me  whole  volumes  of  unpleasant  recollection,  and 
he  added: 

"Mesopot!  I  assure  you  that  all  you'll  want  to 
see  you  can  see  through  a  port-hole  of  your  ship. 
Then  you'll  want  to  turn  right  round  and  come 
back!" 

I  laughed  and  ventured  to  predict  that  as  soon 
as  he  had  recovered  a  little  of  his  lost  ginger  he 

would  be  longing  to  return  himself,  and  in  a  whimsi- 

91 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

cal  kind  of  way  he  acknowledged  that  likely  as  not 
he  would. 

"It's  probably  the  most  unpleasant  hole  topside 
o*  hades,"  he  said,  "but  there  isn't  any  doubt  that 
it  has  a  kind  of  fiendish  fascination.  Chaps  get 
so  interested  in  what  they  are  doing  that  they  have 
actually  been  known  to  refuse  a  month's  leave  when 
it  was  offered  to  them!  They  stick  it  till  they  get 
shoved  out  on  a  stretcher,  same  as  me!"  • 

I  wondered.  Steaming  slowly  on  up  the  Shatt- 
el-Arab  and  into  an  area  of  war  communications 
that  was  crowded  with  a  variety  of  commonplace 
and  anciently  curious  craft,  I  wondered.  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  VI 


A  CCORDING  to  advice  offered  in  a  small  book 
•**•  of  instructions  to  British  officers  with  regard 
to  equipping  themselves  for  service  in  Mesopo- 
tamia: 

"To  spend  a  year  in  this  delectable  land  you  will 
require  three  outfits  of  clothing — one  suitable  for 
an  English  winter;  one  suitable  for  an  English  sum- 
mer; and  an  outfit  suitable  for  hades!" 

So  perhaps  the  tired-out  young  officer  was  right 
when  he  called  it  "the  most  unpleasant  hole  top- 
side o*  hades,"  but  one  soon  learns  that  it  deserves 
also  his  reluctant  admission  that  it  possesses  a  kind 
of  "fiendish  fascination." 

In  Mesopotamia  climate  gets  more  attention  than 
any  other  one  thing,  and  it  is  the  first  thing  to  be 
taken  into  consideration  in  every  move  that  is 
made — that  is,  if  such  consideration  is  possible.  It 
is  not  that  there  are  so  many  varieties  of  climate, 
but  that  the  few  varieties  there  are  exaggerate 
themselves  so  outrageously. 

Believe,  if  you  can,  that  men  are  able  to  live  and 
work  and  fight  in  a  temperature  which,  for  months 
on  end,  seldom  drops  below  110°  F.,  and  which 
frequently  climbs — especially  under  canvas — to 

93 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

130°.  It  is  not  believable,  is  it?  Yet,  along  in 
March  the  Mesopotamian  sun  sets  in  to  establish 
such  records  as  these,  and  through  June,  July, 
August,  and  September  the  records  are  held  with  a 
pitiless  persistence  which  tries  the  souls  of  men  and 
often  enough  wrecks  the  bodies  of  the  strongest. 

So  it  is  that  Mesopotamian  Horror  Number  One 
is  the  Mesopotamian  sun.  During  the  summer  of 
1917  five  hundred  and  nineteen  men  of  the  Meso- 
potamian Expeditionary  Force  died  of  heat  and 
sunstroke.  Yet  by  1917  almost  faultless  facilities  for 
combating  these  twin  evils  had  been  established 
throughout  the  country.  Ice  is  a  first  necessity, 
and  there  are  certain  hydropathic  processes  which 
reduce  the  fearful  temperature  of  the  body  and 
for  which  special  hospital  equipment  is  required. 
In  the  beginning  there  were  none  of  these  things; 
the  medical  services  were  practically  empty-handed; 
and  the  requisites  were  provided  only  with  the  to- 
be-expected  promptness  which  we  usually  express 
with  the  word  "eventually." 

Now,  however,  where  British  troops  are  located 
there  are  ice-plants,  and  there  is  not  a  hospital 
anywhere,  from  the  farthest  evacuation  outpost 
behind  the  lines  of  action  to  the  last  convalescent 
station  on  the  Shatt-el-Arab,  that  is  not  equipped 
with  special  and  detached  facilities  for  the  instant 
care  of  the  man  who  gets  "knocked  on  the  head  by 
the  sun." 

When  this  happens  there  is  no  time  to  rig  up 
paraphernalia  for  treating  the  victim  in  an  ordinary 
ward,  so  in  connection  with  all  the  hospitals  there 
is  a  sunstroke  hut  or  tent — a  place  set  aside  and 
kept  constantly  in  readiness  for  the  instant  emerg- 

94 


WHAT  THE  BRITISH  FOUND 

ency  which  sunstroke  or  heatstroke  always  pre- 
sents. 

One  wonders  how  many  men  the  sun  killed  dur- 
ing the  terrific  campaign  of  1915,  before  England 
was  prepared  in  any  way  to  fight  in  Mesopotamia. 

Throughout  the  hot  season — and  the  hot  season 
always  telescopes  the  cool  season,  beginning  with 
short  periods  in  the  earliest  spring  and  lingering 
far  into  the  autumn — the  British  soldier  has  to  wear 
the  detested  and  detestable  sun-helmet  and  spine- 
pad,  and  it  is  a  joy  to  him  when,  in  the  orders  of 
the  day  along  late  in  November,  he  begins  to  get 
permission  to  leave  them  off  after  stated  hours. 

The  second,  and  hardly  less  to  be  dreaded,  horror 
is  the  pest  of  insect  life.  Practically  every  town  on 
the  rivers  is  surrounded  by  groves  of  date-palms, 
while,  as  I  have  said,  the  date-plantations  on  the 
banks  of  the  Shatt-el-Arab  extend  to  a  depth  of  a 
mile  or  more  on  either  side.  These  groves — or 
date-gardens,  as  they  are  called — are  intersected 
by  numerous  small  creeks  and  irrigation  ditches 
which,  while  they  are  practically  dry  for  months  at 
a  time,  always  contain  stagnant '  small  pools  here 
and  there  that  serve  as  breeding-places  for  all  the 
varieties  there  are  of  malarial  and  fever-carrying 
mosquitoes. 

But  fighting  mosquitoes  is  not  such  a  difficult 
thing.  It  has  been  done  successfully  otherwheres, 
and  it  is  being  done  most  successfully  in  Mesopo- 
tamia. Besides,  a  man  can  escape  mosquitoes,  at 
least  during  the  night,  by  being  provided  with  a  net. 

The  sand-fly,  however,  is  a  different  creature 
altogether,  and  is  the  worst  enemy  the  Mesopo- 
tamian  Expeditionary  Force  has  encountered.  Next 

95 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

to  Germany  it  is  Turkey's  most  venomous  ally  and 
has  incapacitated  thousands  of  men.  It  is  so  small 
as  to  be  all  but  invisible,  and  it  mobilizes  in  the 
great  deserts  in  armies  of  quintillions.  There  are 
times  when  every  inch  of  air  space  seems  to  be  filled 
with  sand-flies.  No  net  was  ever  made  that  was 
fine  enough  to  keep  them  out,  and  it  is  said  by 
those  who  ought  to  know  that  "they  can  get 
through  anything  but  armor  plate."  When  they 
get  a  chance  to  settle  on  a  man  they  proceed  to 
dig  in  and  eat  him  up,  producing  a  variety  of 
torture  that  nothing  else  can  equal.  Then,  in  too 
many  instances,  comes  a  slow,  wasting,  prostrating 
fever  which  nearly  always  necessitates  a  trip  on 
a  stretcher  down  the  Persian  Gulf  to  a  hospital 
somewhere  in  India. 

The  British  army  in  Mesopot  now  meets  the 
sand-fly — and  the  mosquito — with  all  its  exposed 
surfaces  carefully  smeared  with  oily  and  pungent 
lotions  which  are  issued  by  the  authorities  as  a  part 
of  necessary  soldier  equipment.  But  I  will  say  that 
it  took  a  long  time  to  discover  the  right  article  and 
that  there  is  great  division  of  opinion  on  the  subject 
even  yet,  most  officers,  at  least,  having  each  his 
own  pet  brand  of  unpleasant  cream. 

It  would  be  overdrawing  the  picture,  perhaps,  to 
mention  scorpions  and  such  crawling  creatures  of 
the  desert  and  the  palm-groves.  They  infest  the 
land,  it  is  true,  but  not  in  sufficient  numbers 
seriously  to  interfere  with  an  army  that  wears 
large  boots.  They  are  to  be  dreaded  only  be- 
cause they  are  such  nightmarish  things. 

Along  in  October  the  climate  begins  to  improve 
a  little,  and  by  the  beginning  of  November  it  has 

96 


WHAT  THE  BRITISH  FOUND 

been  known  to  be,  in  some  respects,  positively  de- 
lightful. But  by  that  time  the  country  from  one 
end  to  the  other  is  hub-deep  in  fine  dust  which 
blows  up  in  blinding,  stinging  clouds;  seeps  into 
everything;  covers  one's  clothes  and  belongings; 
grits  in  one's  teeth;  burns  in  one's  eyes;  grinds  into 
one's  flesh  and  irritates  everlastingly. 

Even  so,  the  dusty  autumn  with  its  cool  days  and 
restful  nights  is  greatly  to  be  preferred  to  the 
ensuing  short  season  when  the  penetrating  chill  of 
a  particularly  disagreeable  winter  is  accompanied 
by  deluge  after  deluge  of  wind-driven  rain  which 
turns  the  dust  into  a  sea  of  a  peculiarly  Mesopo- 
tamian  variety  of  glutinous  mud  that  clings  to 
whatever  it  touches,  and  by  miring  man,  beast, 
and  vehicle  clogs  the  progress  of  every  kind  of 
enterprise. 

Not  a  pleasant  country  any  way  you  consider 
it,  one  might  say.  Yet,  strangely  enough,  it  is  a 
country  of  infinite  variation  and  its  "fiendish  fasci- 
nation "  is  a  subtle,  alluring  something  beyond  one's 
power  to  describe.  It  inevitably  "gets"  every 
foreigner  who  comes  in  intimate  contact  with  it. 

Fortunately  for  the  British  troops,  their  first 
operations  in  Mesopotamia  were  carried  out  during 
the  winter  months.  Had  it  been  earlier  in  the  year 
there  probably  would  have  been  more  deaths  among 
them  from  sunstroke  and  fever  than  from  Turkish 
lead.  But  as  it  was,  they  had  only  to  contend 
against  such  conditions  as  are  brought  about  by 
lack  of  shelter,  inadequate  supply  transport,  adhe- 
sive mud  or  ankle-deep  slush,  and  an  almost  con- 
tinuous downpour. 

97 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

There  are  officers  in  Mesopotamia  now  who  came 
in  with  the  first  expedition,  who  have  been  through 
the  whole  big  show,  and  expect  to  see  it  through 
to  the  end.  And  these  men  like  to  tell  the  story  of 
the  first  landing. 

Of  the  great  armada  that  sailed  from  Bombay 
in  the  middle  of  October,  1914,  the  four  transports 
and  one  gunboat  that  were  bound  for  the  Persian 
Gulf  steamed  up  and  anchored  on  the  23d  of  October 
off  the  pearl  island  of  Bahrein. 

The  general  supposition  was  that  this  force  had 
been  sent  to  guard  the  Anglo-Persian  Oil  Company's 
properties  at  Abadan,  but,  as  England  was  not  yet 
at  war  with  Turkey,  nobody  knew  definitely  against 
what  or  whom.  The  ships  lay  at  Bahrein  until  the 
1st  of  November,  and  without  a  line  of  news  from 
the  outside  world.  At  a  time,  too,  when  the  world 
was  thrilling  with  the  most  important  events  in 
all  history.  The  officers  passed  the  time  expressing 
to  one  another  their  disgust  and  exasperation,  go- 
ing through  unsatisfactory  landing-drills,  dealing 
with  discontent  among  the  crews,  and  writing  in 
little  note-books — some  of  which  I  have  had  the 
privilege  of  reading — luridly  vituperative  accounts 
of  then*  various  tribulations. 

Eventually,  however,  on  the  1st  of  November, 
orders  were  received  to  move  this  force  on  up  the 
gulf  toward  Fao,  a  fortified  town  on  the  Mesopo- 
tamian  bank  at  the  mouth  of  the  Shatt-el-Arab, 
which  was  of  considerable  international  importance 
and  contained  two  telegraph  offices,  one  Turkish 
and  the  other  British.  And  not  even  the  command- 
ing general  himself  knew  then  that  England  and 
Turkey  were  at  war,  though  a  declared  state  of 

98 


WHAT  THE  BRITISH  FOUND 

war  between  them  had  existed  for  more  than  twenty- 
four  hours.  Which  goes  to  show  what  communica- 
tions were  like  in  those  days. 

In  fact,  it  was  not  until  two  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon of  the  2d  of  November  that  this  contingent 
was  informed  by  signal  message  that  it  had  regular 
work  to  do.  The  message  read: 

Please  inform  the  troops  that  a  state  of  war  now  exists 
between  England  and  Turkey.  Ever  since  the  beginning  of  the 
war  between  England  and  Germany  England  has  made  every 
endeavor  to  maintain  peace  and  uphold  the  ancient  friendship 
with  Turkey,  but,  urged  on  by  German  intrigue,  Turkey  has 
made  successive  acts  of  aggression  and  England  is  now  com- 
pelled to  declare  war.  This  force  has  been  sent  to  the  gulf 
to  safeguard  our  interests  and  to  protect  friendly  Arabs  from 
Turkish  attack. 

So  far  so  good!  The  men  now  knew  more  or 
less  what  to  expect,  and  discontent  among  them 
gave  way  to  hope  that  there  would  be  "something 
doing"  in  the  very  immediate  future. 

There  was.  The  immediate  order  was  to  occupy 
Fao,  and  this  order  was  executed  on  schedule  time. 
A  landing  was  effected  at  Fao  on  the  6th  of  Novem- 
ber, and  the  Turks,  after  a  brief  resistance,  cleared 
out  and  started  on  their  long  retreat  to  the  north. 
And  that  they  fled  from  Fao  rather  precipitately 
was  proved  by  the  character  of  the  loot  they  left 
behind  them  for  the  British  to  gather  up.  The 
guns  they  abandoned  were  practically  undamaged, 
while  those  in  the  old  fort  were  found  loaded  and 
ready  for  firing. 

"My!"  said  Master  Tommy,  "those  boys  were 
in  a  hurry !" 

But  friendly  Arabs  of  the  neighborhood  volun- 

99 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

leered  the  information  that  the  Basra  garrison  of 
eight  thousand  men,  strongly  reinforced  by  troops 
from  Baghdad,  was  moving  down  to  join  the  re- 
treating force,  and  that  the  British  were  to  be 
attacked  by  vastly  superior  numbers  and  driven 
back  into  the  gulf. 

The  British,  however,  moved  on  without  delay, 
the  object  being  to  forestall  an  attack  on  Abadan. 
And  this  important  point  they  succeeded  in  placing 
behind  them  within  forty-eight  hours.  The  Turks 
are  said  to  have  dropped  just  one  shell  into  Abadan, 
but  if  it  had  dropped  on  the  right  spot  it  probably 
would  have  been  sufficient. 

On  the  14th  of  November  reinforcements,  both 
naval  and  military,  arrived  from  India,  and  the 
British  began  offensive  operations  with  the  defi- 
nite object  of  taking  Basra,  an  object  which  they 
accomplished  in  just  nine  days. 

As  it  is  spoken  of  in  a  casual  kind  of  way  now- 
adays, the  British  advance  from  Fao  up  to  Basra 
sounds  as  though  it  might  have  been  an  easy  per- 
formance. It  was  not.  It  was  the  modern  Briton's 
first  encounter  with  Mesopotamian  difficulties,  and, 
knowing  practically  nothing  about  them,  he  could 
only  meet  them  pell-mell  and  take  the  consequences. 

The  advance  had  to  be  made  through  closely  set 
date-plantations  hung  for  miles  on  end  with  en- 
tangling grape-vines  and  intersected  by  innumer- 
able unbridged  creeks  and  ditches.  The  whole 
country  was  a  morass,  while  down  along  the  river- 
bank  were  great  salt  mud-flats  that  are  always 
deeply  flooded  at  high  tide. 

The  Turks  fought  from  ambush,  behind  the  thick 

boles  of  the  palms,  from  under  the  banks  of  canals, 

100 


MAHAYLAS    IN   THE    SHATT-EL-ARAB 


.SCENE   IN   A   CROWDED   CREEK   OF   THE   SHATT-EL-ARAB,    AT   BASRA 


WHAT  THE  BRITISH  FOUND 

and  from  previously  prepared  and  concealed  dug- 
outs, while  the  wounded — having  been  told  by 
their  German  officers  to  expect  no  quarter — ac- 
counted for  many  an  Englishman  and  Indian  by 
rolling  over  where  they  lay  and  shooting  officers 
and  men  at  close  range.  There  are  recorded  in- 
stances of  men  being  killed  as  they  were  hurrying  to 
the  assistance  of  a  fallen  enemy. 

Though  perhaps  I  should  say  at  once  that,  so 
far  as  I  have  heard,  this  is  the  only  recorded  in- 
stance of  Turkish  disregard  of  the  rules  of  fair 
fighting  in  straight  battle. 

"Our  men  were  extremely  humane,"  writes  one 
British  officer,  "and  not  only  assisted  wounded 
Turks,  but  also  gave  them  cigarettes  and  any  food 
they  had,  and  the  Turks  were  tremendously  sur- 
prised. They  were  told  to  sell  their  lives  as  dearly 
as  possible,  because  if  they  fell  they  surely  would 
have  to  die.  What  rotten  lies!  Our  Pathans  were 
almost  too  considerate,  even  halting  in  important 
movements  to  help  the  wounded  and  the  dying." 

The  Turks  did  not  offer  a  long-continued  resist- 
ance. They  were  in  overwhelmingly  superior  num- 
bers, but,  having  retreated  on  Basra,  they  imme- 
diately abandoned  that  important  base  and  rather 
bolted  than  retreated  to  previously  prepared  posi- 
tions to  the  northward  on  the  rivers  Tigris  and 
Euphrates.  The  final  twenty-eight  miles  of  the 
British  advance  were  undisputed,  and  this  distance 
was  covered  in  a  single  day — a  performance  which 
the  self-communing  officer  of  the  frankest  note- 
book describes  as  a  disgrace. 

"No  staff  arrangemeryg|#t  all>"  says  he,  "and 
men,  both  British  and  Indian,  footsore  and  weary, 
8  101 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

strung  out  all  over  the  whole  wretched  country! 
There  is  no  doubt  that  our  generals  have  just  been 
pushing  on  as  rapidly  as  they  could  over  the  diffi- 
cult route,  and  expecting  more  of  the  men  than 
men  are  capable  of.  Twenty-eight  miles  in  one 
day  over  ordinary  muddy  roads  would  be  bad 
enough,  but  such  a  march  at  a  fast  pace  through 
the  kind  of  thick,  slimy  mud  we  have  to  encounter 
here  is  simply  preposterous  and  enough  to  render 
the  men  useless  for  a  week!" 

That  officer,  being  an  old-timer  of  the  regular 
army,  was  annoyed.  But  Basra  was  occupied  on 
the  23d  of  November  and  the  reckless  advance  was 
accounted — as  it  really  was — a  valuable  victory 
and  a  fine  exhibition  of  British  grit  and  deter- 
mination. 

At  Basra,  considering  the  immediate  necessities, 
the  British  found  literally  nothing.  The  old  town 
has  little  to  do  with  necessities  now,  but  at  that 
time  it  was  important.  It  is  about  two  miles  inland 
from  the  river,  and  to  the  westward  of  it  lies  only 
a  boundless  expanse  of  sand.  It  was  a  typically 
Turkish-Arab  town,  filthy  and  unsanitary  beyond 
description,  and  left  inhabited  after  the  Turkish 
evacuation  chiefly  by  a  mob  of  surly  and  truculent 
Arabs  who,  while  they  had  found  Turkish  misrule 
always  intolerable,  gave  promise  of  finding  British 
law  and  order  even  more  so. 

But  the  British  were  interested  in  the  river-banks 
on  which  they  would  have  to  establish  port  facili- 
ties. Every  man  and  every  animal  and  every  ounce 
of  food  for  both,  as, well  as  munitions  and  equipment 

and  the  necessary  materials  for  developing  and 

102 


WHAT  THE   BRITISH  FOUND 

maintaining  a  war  zone,  would  have  to  be  brought 
from  overseas,  and  it  was  a  serious  outlook. 

There  were  two  or  three  foreign  consulates  that 
would  serve  well  enough  for  departmental  head- 
quarters, and  a  new  custom-house  shed  that  would 
come  in  handy  for  warehousing  supplies.  Also — 
Basra  having  been  chosen  as  the  gulf  terminal  of 
the  Berlin-to-Baghdad-and-beyond  Railroad — there 
was  one  temporary  German  railway  wharf,  the 
beginnings  of  some  freight-sheds,  and  a  few  valu- 
able materials  lying  about.  Otherwise,  as  a  base 
from  which  to  supply  and  to  direct  the  operations 
of  an  army  destined  to  the  kind  of  service  into 
which  this  first  force  was  immediately  thrust,  the 
place  was  a  total  blank. 

Roads,  lights,  telephones,  vehicles,  housing  facili- 
ties, civilized  conveniences  of  any  kind — there  were 
none!  In  order  to  get  any  conception  at  all  of  sub- 
sequent events  and  developments  it  is  necessary  to 
realize  this.  Aiter  which  it  is  necessary  to  get,  if 
possible,  a  sweeping  kind  of  vision  of  a  country 
stretching  away  and  away  to  the  east  and  the  west 
in  limitless  desolation  and  rolling  northward  in 
waves  and  wastes  of  gray  and  yellow  desert  through 
which  two  shallow,  slow-flowing  rivers — empty  then 
of  transport  and  at  times  all  but  unnavigable — wind 
a  tortuous  way. 


CHAPTER  VII 

NOT   THROUGH   A   PORT-HOLE 

IT  was  early  morning  when  I  arrived  at  Basra, 
and  I  stood  for  two  hours  or  more  at  the  deck 
rail,  wondering  vaguely  why  somebody  did  not  come 
to  take  me  ashore,  while  I  watched  with  intense 
interest  the  disembarkation  of  the  troops  we  had 
brought,  and  a  scene  along  the  river-bank  of  toil- 
some and  bewilderingly  multifarious  industry.  It 
was  war — twentieth-century  war — in  the  process  of 
destroying  for  all  time  the  somnolent  peace  of  a 
world  that  has  drowsed  for  ages  in  Eastern  dreams. 

The  Arabs — children  of  the  desert  and  inheritors 
of  noiseless  ease  and  ancient  methods — say,  "The 
British  came  with  the  smoke."  But  it  was  the  other 
way  round.  The  smoke  came  with  the  British, 
and  it  rolls  to-day — in  black  spirals  of  industrial 
abomination — from  workshops  innumerable,  from 
electric  power-plants,  from  many  steamboats,  and 
from  tall  chimneys  and  funnels  of  every  kind  all 
round  the  horizon.  And  with  the  British  came  also 
the  loud  murmur  and  the  clatter  and  clank  of  toil, 
the  shrill  shriek  of  the  locomotive,  and  the  honk 
of  the  horn  of  the  motor. 

The  Arabs  say,  also,  "Leisure  is  God-given  and 
haste  is  of  the  Evil  One."  They  never  worked  be- 

104 


NOT  THROUGH  A  PORT-HOLE 

fore  in  all  their  lives,  but  they  are  working  now,  and 
they  are  working  with  a  rapidity  and  cheerfulness 
which  denote  much  with  regard  to  the  reward  they 
get  and  the  character  of  the  discipline  they  are 
under. 

But  the  scene  on  the  amazing  river-bank  looked 
to  me  like  the  utmost  in  disorderliness  and  confu- 
sion. Docks  and  wharves  were  lined  with  ships 
and  crowded  with  men  and  women — coolies — work- 
ing ant-fashion,  coming  and  going  in  endless  lines, 
carrying  on  heads  and  bent  backs  boxes  and  bales 
of  materials  and  materials  and  materials.  Acres  of 
low  sheds  stretching  away  into  the  fringes  of  the 
palm-groves;  miles  of  closely  tented  open  space 
seen  hazily  through  cloudy  of  dust;  pyramids  of 
hay  and  sacked  grain  under  light-green  canvas; 
mule  -  wagons;  motor  -  lorries;  ammunition-carts; 
ambulances;  an  artillery  convoy  getting  under  way 
out  across  a  baked  gray  waste  in  the  distance; 
automobiles  hurrying  hither  and  thither;  officers  on 
handsome  horses  moving  slowly  here  and  there;  a 
long  line  of  diminutive  donkeys  tricked  out  in 
brightly  ornamented  pack-saddles  and  with  jingling 
halters  and  strings  of  blue  beads  round  their  necks; 
a  longer  line  of  ambling,  munching,  disdainful- 
nosed  camels  on  the  way  down  to  the  adjoining 
dock,  where  they  were  being  swung  up  one  by  one, 
like  so  many  bales  of  hay,  and  deposited  in  the 
hold  of  a  big  gray  ship;  it  was  a  scene  to  hold  the 
new-comer's  attention  and  to  make  the  time  pass 
swiftly. 

And  across  on  the  eastern  bank  of  the  broad 
river  were  peaceful-seeming,  long,  mud-thatched 
and  palm-shaded  huts  that  one  knew  for  hospital 

105 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

wards  because  the  Red  Cross  flag  and  the  Union 
Jack  flew  together  from  a  tall  flagstaff  in  the  midst 
of  them.  Beyond  them  stretched  the  desert, 
bounded  only  by  an  orange-and-mauve-lit  haze  on 
far  horizons. 

A  smart  young  officer  wearing  the  red  collar-tabs 
of  staff  service  stepped  up  and  —  with  a  certainty 
that  I  was  the  person  he  was  looking  for — said  he 
had  come  to  fetch  me.  That  was  nice.  I  fully 
expected,  of  course,  to  be  fetched  by  somebody.  I 
was  to  be  the  guest  in  Basra,  he  said,  of  the  In- 
spector-General of  Communications  and  the  In- 
spector-General's launch  was  at  the  wharf  steps 
waiting  to  take  me  back  down-river  to  headquarters. 
And  back  down-river  in.a  launch  meant  skimming 
a  swift  way  at  water-level  through  the  moving 
picture  of  interesting  things  afloat  which  I  had  al- 
ready looked  down  upon  from  the  high  deck  of  the 
trooper  as  she  steamed  up  the  six  miles  of  river- 
front to  a  new  pier  at  its  farthest  end. 

About  ten  miles  below  Basra  there  are  three 
large  ships  sunk  in  what  was  at  one  time  the  chan- 
nel of  the  Shatt-el-Arab.  The  masts  and  funnels 
of  two  of  them  and  the  prow  of  the  other  are  high 
out  of  water  at  low  tide — inviting  one  to  mental 
picture-making  of  what  lies  beneath  them  sub- 
merged— and  form  nowadays  one  of  the  "sights"  to 
be  seen. 

They  were  sunk  by  the  Turks  during  the  earliest 
operations,  with  an  idea  of  closing  the  river  to  the  ad- 
vancing British  gunboats  and  troop-ships.  But  the 
Shatt-el-Arab  is  not  a  dependable  stream  for  any 
such  undertaking,  and,  being  strong  and  deep,  would 
cut  for  itself  a  sufficient  channel  against  any  imag- 

106 


NOT  THROUGH  A  PORT-HOLE 

inable  obstacle.  The  British  attached  a  cable  to 
the  ship  in  midstream  and,  assisted  by  the  current, 
pulled  it  round  to  one  side.  The  river  did  the  rest. 
Almost  overnight  it  washed  a  wide  curve  in  the 
eastern  bank  and  the  new  channel  was  established. 

From  that  point  on  up  to  Basra  the  river  becomes 
cumulatively  interesting.  An  almost  continuous 
procession  of  ocean-going  ships  passes  and  re- 
passes,  plying  mostly  to  and  from  the  port  of 
Bombay:  hospital-ships,  cargo-ships,  and  camou- 
flaged troopers,  with  now  and  then  a  too-busy-to- 
get-itself-cleaned-up  refrigerator-ship  from  Australia 
with  its  dirty-gray,  rust-streaked  hull  covered  all 
over  with  great  splotches  of  red  paint,  as  red  paint 
is  always  laid  on  rust-eaten  patches. 

And  ships  nowadays  have  an  almost  human  way 
of  looking  more  in  earnest  about  the  thing  they  are 
up  to  than  ships  ever  looked  before. 

The  young  officer  who  had  come  to  fetch  me  was 
A.  D.  C.  to  the  I.  G.  C.,  and  the  launch  lying  at 
the  wharf  steps  was  a  long,  slim,  red-carpeted,  and 
soft-cushioned  luxury  that  was  proudly  capable  of 
making  twenty-five  miles  an  hour.  It  was  driven 
exactly  as  an  automobile  is  driven,  and  the  man 
behind  the  wheel  looked  like  a  soldier  chauffeur 
crouched  to  put  a  high-powered  racer  through  the 
enemy's  lines.  He  seemed  to  be  in  a  hurry.  I  was 
not.  But  what  with  the  noise  of  the  engine  and  the 
wash  of  the  high-foaming  wake  behind  us,  there  was 
little  chance  of  making  myself  heard,  however 
much  I  might  have  wished  to  ask  questions.  Five 
miles  or  more  we  went,  at  top  speed,  and  through 
traffic  so  congested  that  we  escaped  a  dozen  colli- 

107 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

sions  only  by  what  seemed  to  me  to  be  as  many 
miracles. 

There  were  six  or  eight  ocean-going  hospital-ships 
lying  at  wharves  here  and  there,  and  many  strange 
flat-bottomed,  high-funneled,  and  unshapely  Red 
Cross  river-boats  were  banked  in  before  the  long 
rows  of  hospital-huts,  their  gangways  thrown  out 
across  the  Bund.  These  boats  bring  the  wounded 
and  the  sick  down  the  five  hundred  miles  of  river 
from  Baghdad  and  transfer  them  to  the  hos- 
pitals on  shore  or  to  the  ships  for  Karachi  and 
Bombay. 

Lying  in  midstream  were  a  number  of  cruisers  of 
the  Persian  Gulf  fleet,  while,  hugging  them  close,  or 
snugging  up  against  either  bank  to  make  room  in 
the  river,  were  a  half-dozen  monitors  and  some 
tiny  gunboats,  all  bristling  with  guns  that  looked 
far  too  large  for  them.  The  monitors  and  gunboats 
are  painted  the  color  of  the  desert  dust  against 
which  they  are  seen  when  they  are  on  business  bent 
up  the  Tigris  or  Euphrates. 

There  were  troop-ships  and  cargo-ships,  smoke- 
belching  dredgers,  and  many  barges  and  tugs  and 
double-decked  steamboats.  But  mostly,  it  seemed 
to  me,  there  were  swift-scurrying  launches — Red 
Cross  launches,  officers'  launches  shining  and  trim, 
and  common,  gray-brown,  and  ill-kept  workaday 
launches — all  darting  noisily  here  and  there,  mak- 
ing wide  billowing  wakes  upon  which  slender, 
fragile-seeming  belums  teetered  perilously,  to  be 
steadied  by  the  strong  paddle-strokes  of  deft  Arab 
boatmen.  The  Arab  boatman  sits  flat  on  his  heels, 
high  in  the  up-curving  prow  of  his  graceful  small 
craft,  and  is  a  picture  man  with  kuffiyeh  wrapped 

108 


THE  CANOE  OF  MESOPOTAMIA THE  BELUM 

Taken  at  Muhammerah. 


SCENE   AT   A   CARAVANSERAI — A   MESOPOTAMIAN   COFFEE-HOUSE 

This  one  happens  to  be  at  Baghdad. 


NOT  THROUGH  A  PORT-HOLE 

under  his  usually  shapely  chin  and  bound  round 
his  head  with  twisted  strands  of  camel's  hair. 

Along  the  banks  rose  a  forest  of  slender  slanting 
masts  on  scores  of  mahaylas  and  dhows  that  were 
high  and  dry  in  the  mud  of  low  tide.  These  curious 
vessels  loom  large  in  one's  life  in  Mesopotamia  and 
are  as  much  a  part  of  the  general  scheme  of  things 
as  are  the  palm-trees  and  the  dust  and  the  desert 
sands. 

The  belum  is  the  sampan,  or  the  used-for-every- 
thing  canoe,  of  the  country,  while  the  mahayla  and 
the  dhow  are  great,  massive-timbered  cargo-boats 
modeled  on  fantastic  lines  that  must  have  been 
familiar  to  the  people  of  the  days  of  Abraham. 

I  found  the  I.  G.  C.  and  the  lines-of -communica- 
tion staff  housed  in  a  rather  pretentious,  much- 
balconied,  and  many-windowed  building  on  the 
Bund,  which  used  to  be  the  German  consulate. 

When  the  British  occupied  Basra  the  German 
consul  did  not  clear  out  with  the  Turks  and  make 
tracks  for  home,  as  one  would  imagine  he  might 
have  done.  He  remained  to  be  taken  prisoner — 
knowing,  perhaps,  that  he  would  be  transferred  to 
safe  and  comfortable  quarters  in  India — and,  as 
the  British  were  advancing  up  the  Shatt-el-Arab,  he 
sent  an  appeal  to  them  to  make  haste,  that  they 
might  be  in  time  to  save  the  Europeans! 

The  Arabs  were  on  a  rampage,  looting  the  town 
and  murdering  the  stragglers  in  the  Turkish  retreat 
— as  is  their  custom — and  it  is  supposed  the  German 
consul  was  frightened. 

Among  the  Europeans  to  be  "saved"  were  two 

British  telegraph  clerks  from  Fao  who  had  been  in 

109 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

charge  of  the  British  telegraph  station  there  and 
who  were  seized  by  the  Turks  the  minute  war  was 
declared.  They  were  routed  out  of  their  beds  in 
the  middle  of  the  night  and  marched  straight  away. 
They  were  not  allowed  even  to  dress  or  to  gather 
up  any  of  their  belongings,  and  were  forced  to  walk 
the  full  sixty-odd  miles  to  Basra  in  their  pajamas 
and  bedroom  slippers,  one  of  them  even  being  with- 
out a  hat.  On  the  way  Arab  horsemen  pointed 
rifles  at  them  and  threatened  to  kill  them,  while 
men,  women,  and  children  were  encouraged  to  spit 
upon  them  as  they  passed  through  the  villages  and 
along  the  desert  trails. 

When  they  reached  Basra  they  were  thrown  into 
the  unspeakable  Turkish  jail  and  for  a  week  or 
more  were  mistreated  in  every  possible  way,  getting 
nothing  to  eat  but  a  few  dates. 

When  the  Turks  started  in  full  flight  to  the 
north — evidently  in  a  curious  state  of  disorganiza- 
tion for  the  moment — they  were  released  for  some 
unexplained  reason  and  were  left  in  Basra.  And  for 
this  the  German  consul  wanted  credit! 

Very  well.  The  British  good-naturedly  gave  it 
to  him  and  afforded  him  the  most  courteous  as- 
sistance in  his  preparations  for  departure  to  the 
comfortable  quarters  in  India.  Then  it  was  learned 
that  he  easily  could  have  saved  the  young  men  from 
the  frightful  indignities  and  hardships  to  which  they 
had  been  subjected,  and  that  he  was  the  instigator 
and  financial  backer  of  practically  all  the  Arab 
outrages  that  were  committed.  In  other  words,  he 
was  a  German  consul. 

In  his  one-time  consulate  there  are  a  good  many 

things  which  afford  the  present  tenants  considerable 

no 


NOT  THROUGH  A  PORT-HOLE 

amusement.  The  furniture  is  of  a  splendid  German 
heaviness  and  the  decorations  are  of  the  "new  art" 
variety  in  light  greens  and  sickly  pinks. 

But  he  did  have  some  good  Persian  carpets  which 
he  had  acquired  during  his  residence  in  the  Persian- 
carpet  belt,  and  about  these  he  is  to  this  day  greatly 
concerned.  He  could  not  take  them  with  him  to  a 
detention  camp  in  India,  and  as  there  was  no  place 
to  store  them  in  a  town  newly  occupied  by  a  vic- 
torious enemy,  he  had,  perforce,  to  leave  them  on 
the  floors.  He  knew  they  would  be  safe  enough  in 
the  hands  of  British  gentlemen,  no  doubt,  but  he 
now  has  the  astonishing  effrontery  to  write  occasion- 
ally to  the  I.  G.  C.  to  express  his  anxiety  about  them 
and  to  ask  that  they  be  regularly  beaten  and  aired ! 

And  the  curious  thing  is  that  the  I.  G.  C.  is  only 
amused  by  the  man's  impudence  and  that  he  issues 
orders  every  once  in  a  while  to  have  the  carpets  at- 
tended to.  In  fact,  he  is  so  careful  about  them  that 
his  less  meticulous  young  staff  can  hardly  smoke 
in  comfort  in  the  mess-rooms. 

Compare  this  with — a  vision  of  German  officers 
engaged  in  their  favorite  pastime  of  denuding  and 
defiling  the  fine  homes  of  Belgium  and  northern 
France!  Rather  gratifying  to  Anglo-Saxon  pride  in 
Anglo-Saxon  character,  is  it  not? 

In  the  communications  mess,  besides  the  I.  G.  C. 
and  his  A.  D.  C.  I  found  an  assistant  quartermaster- 
general,  a  deputy  assistant  quartermaster-general, 
and  the  Deputy  with  a  capital  "D."  The  I.  G.  C.— 
Major-General  Sir  George  MacMunn — is  a  Knight 
Commander  of  the  Bath  and  has  enough  orders  and 
decorations  to  fill  three  long  ribbon  bars  on  his  chest 

and  to  make  it  impossible  for  any  one  to  write  his 

ill 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

name  with  its  full  complement  of  alphabetical  ad- 
ditaments  on  less  than  two  lines. 

The  A.  D.  C.  is  a  one-time  prosperous  barrister 
of  Calcutta  who  gave  up  a  lucrative  practice  at  the 
beginning  of  things  and  volunteered  for  any  kind 
of  service  the  medical  classifiers  might  find  him 
fitted  for.  They  gave  him  the  rank  of  first  lieutenant 
and  put  him  in  charge  of  a  mule-depot,  and  he  got 
the  attractive  staff  job  as  a  reward  for  two  years* 
uncongenial  service  uncomplainingly  rendered.  He 
has  no  ribbons  at  all,  but  he  doesn't  mind  telling 
you  that  he  has  a  younger  brother  in  France  with  a 
Victoria  Cross.  The  A.  Q.  M.  G.  is  a  serious-minded 
colonel  who  went  on  the  water-wagon  with  King 
George  for  the  unending  "duration"  and  the  D.  A. 
Q.  M.  G.  is  a  major  of  cavalry  in  the  Indian  army 
who  has  the  French  Cross  of  War  and  a  record  of 
thirteen  years'  service,  nearly  two  of  which  have 
been  spent  without  leave  in  Mesopotamia. 

The  Deputy — never  spoken  of  as  anything  else- 
is  D.  I.  G.  C.,  understudy  to  the  Inspector- General 
of  Communications,  who  holds  down  the  job  at 
headquarters  when  the  I.  G.  C.  is  off  on  his  frequent 
trips  of  inspection  up  and  down  the  lines  of  com- 
munication, which,  starting  from  Basra,  follow  the 
courses  of  the  Tigris  and  Euphrates  and  spread  fan- 
wise  along  dozens  of  avenues  to  the  farthest  out- 
posts on  the  battle-lines.  The  Deputy,  a  big,  white- 
haired,  Irish  brigadier-general,  has  brown  eyes  that 
smile  and  a  tongue  that  keeps  the  community's 
sense  of  humor  stirred  up  to  bubbling-point. 

And  it  was  with  the  Deputy,  off  duty  as  an  un- 
derstudy, that  I  first  explored  the  great  city  of  war 

behind  the  palm  belt  and  got  a  definite  realization 

112 


MAJOR-GENERAL    SIR    GEORGE    MACMTTNN,    INSPECTOR-GENERAL    OF 
COMMUNICATIONS 

Taken  at  Basra. 


NOT  THROUGH  A  PORT-HOLE 

of  the  fact  that  war  can  be  waged  constructively 
rather  than  destructively  if  the  wagers  thereof 
happen  to  belong  to  a  nation  with  a  modern  Chris- 
tian soul  and  a  gentlemanly  conscience. 

Desolation,  utter  and  complete  and  inexpressibly 
dreadful !  That  is  bound  to  be  one's  first  impression 
of  almost  any  part  of  Mesopotamia,  and  its  curious 
charm  does  not  impress  itself  upon  one  except  at 
the  day's  end  when  it  is  flooded  with  seductive 
lights. 

It  was  aflame  with  a  fierce  noonday  glare  when  the 
Deputy  and  I  rolled  out  into  it  in  a  big  gray  ser- 
vice motor-car,  though  for  a  short  time  we  rolled 
along  over  a  fine  hard-surfaced  roadway  that  was 
black  with  oil.  He  had  to  tell  me  about  that.  It 
was  the  first  road  that  had  been  built  in  Mesopo- 
tamia since  the  year  before  Adam.  It  is  six  miles 
long  and  it  cost  more  than  any  six  miles  of  road 
ever  cost  before  in  the  history  of  the  world. 

There  is  no  stone  in  the  country;  not  even  a 
pebble.  In  fact,  there  is  no  building  material  of 
any  kind  except  mud,  so  everything  that  went  to 
the  construction  of  this  road  had  to  be  brought  up 
from  the  interior  of  India,  and  at  a  time,  too,  when 
sea  transport  was  the  most  valuable  thing  in  the 
world.  But  difficulty  and  expense  were  not  to  be 
considered,  the  road  being  an  absolute  necessity. 
During  the  early  months  of  the  year  the  earth  is 
covered  to  an  average  depth  of  about  seven  inches 
with  the  thick,  viscid  mud  I  have  already  men- 
tioned, which  puts  automobile  transport  out  of  busi- 
ness altogether  and  in  which  neither  man  nor  beast 
can  get  a  secure  foothold. 

113 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

The  Turks  dicTnot  believe  the  British  would  build 
roads.  They  never  had  themselves.  And  they  re- 
lied with  the  utmost  confidence  during  the  winter 
of  1914-15  on  the  always  hampering  climatic  condi- 
tions, believing  that  the  British  would  be  unable  to 
establish  an  adequate  base,  to  say  nothing  of  mak- 
ing an  advance.  But  the  Britisher  is  just  as  good 
a  fighter  as  the  Turk  and  happens  to  be  a  vastly 
more  industrious,  resourceful,  and  determined  indi- 
vidual. He  certainly  did  flounder  round  and  get 
himself  in  a  fearful  condition  that  winter,  but  his 
first  call  was  for  labor  reserves  and  crushed  rock; 
and  first  thing  you  know  there  was  the  six-mile 
road  connecting  all  the  points  along  the  river  where 
cargo  is  unloaded.  In  the  mean  time  the  river-bank 
was  being  rapidly  lined  with  piers  and  warehouses. 

This  highway  now  connects  everything  else  with 
the  terminal  of  a  railroad  that  was  picked  up  some- 
where in  India  where  it  was  not  absolutely  needed, 
brought  up  the  Persian  Gulf,  and  laid  down  along 
the  west  bank  of  the  Euphrates  to  supplement  that 
uncertain  river  as  a  means  of  communication  with 
the  far-away  northwestern  battle-front. 

Long  since,  however,  a  reasonably  inexpensive 
source  of  supply  for  road-surfacing  material  has 
been  located  and  developed,  and  now  the  six-mile 
stretch  is  only  a  historic  example  to  be  talked  about 
in  connection  with  the  difficult  days.  Road-building 
is  now  going  on  apace  in  every  direction,  as  one  is 
made  to  realize  when  one's  automobile  has  to  skirt 
round  steam-rollers  time  and  again,  or  plunge  off 
into  rutted  side-tracks  and  run  for  miles  on  end 
through  dust  hub-deep  to  avoid  long  stretches  of 
newly  laid  crushed  rock. 

114 


NOT  THROUGH  A  PORT-HOLE 

The  Deputy,  being  more  or  less  used  to  things 
as  they  are,  tried  his  best  to  be  communicative  and 
friendly  as  we  drove  along  through  the  immensities 
and  mysteries — mysteries  to  me,  at  least — but  the 
dust  was  so  terrific  that  to  open  one's  mouth  was 
at  times  to  risk  being  choked  to  death.  Everything 
was  covered  with  it,  and  to  a  thickness  and  heavi- 
ness that  I  can  best  indicate  perhaps  by  reference 
to  a  boy  I  saw  at  a  Red  Cross  depot  clearing  it  off 
the  sagging  top  of  a  big  storage  tent  with  a  shovel. 
It  had  seeped  into  everything  to  such  an  extent  that 
it  was  difficult,  so  far  as  color  was  concerned,  to  tell 
where  the  camps  left  off  and  the  desert  began. 
Dust  and  tents;  dust  and  sheds;  dust  and  pyra- 
mids of  war-supplies;  dust  and  men;  dust  and 
mules;  everything  seemed  blended  together  in  an 
interminable  stretch  of  yellow  and  tawny  gray.  It 
was  desert  camouflage. 

Within  the  deep  shade  of  the  dust  -  powdered 
palm-gardens  there  are  labor-camps,  mule-depots, 
remount-depots,  veterinary  hospitals,  and  accom- 
modation for  various  native  and  auxiliary  services. 
But  beyond  a  sharp  line,  the  palm-gardens  leave 
off  and  the  desert  begins.  And  out  in  the  desert 
the  British  Tommy  and  his  Indian  comrades  have 
pitched  their  tents  by  the  tens  of  thousands.  Sub- 
stantial huts  of  wood,  with  walls  of  reed  mats  and 
heavy  roofs  of  mud,  have  taken  the  place  of  tents 
in  one  section,  and  these — grotesque  to  the  last 
degree — stretch  away  in  even  rows  across  the  plain 
like  a  measureless,  fantastic  kind  of  dream  city, 
relieved  by  nothing  but  the  round  mud  domes  of 
many  incinerators  and  an  occasional  flagstaff  flying 
the  colors  of  some  regiment  or  corps. 

115 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

There  are  Y.  M.  C.  A.  centers  every  so  often — 
these  being  mostly  an  American  contribution  to 
the  general  scheme  of  things — and  there  are  fre- 
quent canteens,  the  canteen  in  the  British  sense 
being  a  small  official  retail  store  where  Tommy  can 
buy  at  cost  price  various  luxuries,  such  as  cakes, 
biscuits,  chocolates,  jams,  potted  meats,  tinned 
fruits,  and  extra  cigarettes,  as  well  as  many  tempt- 
ing small  items  of  wearing-apparel  not  included  by 
government  in  his  regular  equipment.  A  place,  in 
other  words,  where  boy  or  man  may  relieve  in  him- 
self, to  a  certain  extent,  a  sometimes  intolerable 
longing  for  home  and  the  usual  comforts.  This 
kind  of  canteen  service  is  a  part  of  the  regular  Brit- 
ish military  organization  and  is  not  related  in  any 
way  to  the  canteen  services  provided  by  war-relief 
organizations  and  carried  on  by  volunteer  workers. 

Then  we  went  to  the  prison  camp — in  the  same 
general  desert  area.  There  is  a  weird  fascination 
about  war  prison  camps.  One  sees  cooped  up  in 
them,  under  the  covering  muzzles  of  machine-guns, 
thousands  of  men  who  have  met  one's  own  men  in 
battle,  have  inflicted  upon  them  inhuman  horrors, 
and  have  themselves  suffered  unforgetable  things, 
and  one  looks  upon  them  with  a  vague  kind  of 
wonder.  I  have  seen  a  great  many  German  prisoners 
in  France  and  I  can  never  control  a  feeling  of  re- 
sentment against  them,  but  I  felt  rather  sorry  for 
the  mild-eyed  but  otherwise  villainous-looking 
Turks.  There  were  only  about  three  thousand  of 
them  in  just  then — with  a  few  Germans  among 
them — but  the  camp  can  accommodate  seven  thou- 
sand and  has  done  so  on  a  number  of  occasions. 

It   is   a   tremendous   square   area    inclosed    in 

116 


NOT  THROUGH  A  PORT-HOLE 

barbed-wire  entanglements.  The  prisoners  live  in 
bell  tents  set  in  even  rows  which,  running  away 
and  away  in  converging  parallels,  give  one  an  im- 
pression of  great  distances.  Outside  every  sixth  or 
eighth  tent  I  observed  a  group  of  men  engaged  in 
chopping  up  sides  of  beef.  They  were  distributing 
a  ration.  It  was  fine,  fresh  Australian  meat  and 
each  man  was  getting  a  generous  share  of  it. 

I  was  thinking  that  coming  upon  a  supply  of 
such  food  must  have  been  a  welcome  change  for 
most  of  them.  And  besides  a  good  and  sufficient 
meat  ration  they  get  excellent  white  bread — ex- 
actly what  the  British  soldier  gets — and  plenty  of 
vegetables. 

They  are  well  fed  and  well  taken  care  of  in  every 
way,  the  health  of  the  camp  being  practically  per- 
fect; and  there  is  nothing  for  them  to  complain 
of,  really,  except  the  climate.  The  tents  are 
bleached  white  in  the  terrific  sun  and  throw  back 
the  savage  glare  of  the  fine  dust  as  though  in  a  kind 
of  impotent  rage;  and  that  is  rather  awful! 

But  that  kind  of  thing  the  British  soldiers  have 
to  put  up  with,  too,  and  they  are  less  used  to  it, 
perhaps.  Though,  come  to  think  of  it,  the  Turks 
are  as  much  foreigners  in  Mesopotamia  as  the  British, 
and  there  are  many  of  them  from  the  hills  and  the 
regions  up  around  the  Black  Sea  to  whom  the  desert 
is  a  torment  and  a  torture.  They  are  always  de- 
lighted when  they  come  to  be  transferred  to  camps 
in  India,  as  all  of  them  must  be  sooner  or  later 
to  make  room  for  the  fresh  relays  coming  in. 

After  leaving  the  camps  of  the  city  of  war  we 
struck  straight  out  on  the  way  to  nowhere — toward 
which  no  way  leads.  There  are  desert  roadways, 
9  u? 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

to  be  sure,  in  one  direction  or  another,  but  they 
are  nothing  but  wheel  tracks  in  the  dust  and  sand 
and  are  not  distinguishable  very  far  ahead  even  at 
their  best.  In  a  sand-storm  they  become  wholly 
obliterated  in  a  few  moments. 

About  five  miles  out  in  one  direction  there  is  a 
wide  area  of  desert  fenced  in  with  barbed-wire  en- 
tanglements, heavily  stockaded  and  filled  to  capac- 
ity with  munitions  of  war.  It  is  a  most  comforting 
thing  to  look  upon.  It  makes  you  double  up  your 
fists  and  say  the  first  thing  that  comes  into  your 
mind  which  calls  for  an  exclamation  point  by  way 
of  punctuation.  And  a  little  farther  on  we  drove 
round  a  detached  artillery  encampment  where  sev- 
eral hundred  new  guns  were  being  prepared  for 
transportation  on  their  own  wheels  to  the  far-away 
front.  There  were  gun  crews  drilling,  and  in  the 
vast  silence  one  could  hear  the  sharp  commands  of 
officers  from  long  distances  away. 

We  went  on  toward  nowhere,  intending  to  make 
a  wide  detour  and  come  into  old  Basra  by  the 
Zobier  Gate  in  the  south  wall.  There  was  no  dust 
out  there;  only  hard-packed  sand,  from  which  the 
fierce  hammering  sun  struck  a  myriad  glinting,  eye- 
searing  sparks.  But  it  was  beautiful  beyond  words 
to  describe.  We  spun  along  at  fifty  miles  an  hour 
with  a  cool,  clean  breeze  in  our  faces. 

Then,  just  over  a  slight  rise  in  the  sparkling 
plain,  I  saw  my  first  mirage.  It  was  impossible  to 
believe  it  was  a  mirage  and  not  really  the  beautiful 
lake  that  it  seemed — a  lake  dotted  with  wooded 
islands  and  fringed  in  places  with  deep  green  for- 
ests. I  have  seen  mirage  in  other  deserts  in  other 
lands,  but  I  have  never  seen  anything  like  the 

118 


•'•*"••  :•  t."  :*'.•'  ': 


NOT  THROUGH  A  PORT-HOLE 

Mesopotamia!!  mirage.  We  drove  straight  on,  and 
it  came  so  close  that  I  was  sure  I  could  see  a  ripple 
on  its  surface.  Then  suddenly  it  went  away  off, 
and  where  it  had  been  our  skid-proof  tires  were 
humming  on  the  hard-packed  sand,  and  I  saw  that 
the  wooded  islands  had  been  created  out  of  nothing 
but  patches  of  camel-thorn  and  that  the  trees  of 
the  forest  were  tufts  of  dry  grass  not  more  than  six 
inches  high. 

Off  on  the  far  horizon  a  camel  caravan  was  swing- 
ing slowly  along  and  the  camels  looked  like  some 
kind  of  mammoth  prehistoric  beasts,  while  in  an- 
other direction  what  we  took  to  be  camels  turned 
out  to  be  a  string  of  diminutive  donkeys  under 
pack-saddles  laden  with  bales  of  the  desert  grass 
roots  which  the  Arabs  use  for  fuel. 

The  mirage  has  played  an  interesting  part  in  the 
Mesopotarnian  campaigns.  In  some  places  it  is 
practically  continuous  the  year  round,  and  it  adds 
greatly  to  the  difficulties  of  an  army  in  action.  It 
is  seldom  mistaken  for  anything  but  what  it  is,  but 
it  does  curious  things  to  distances  and  to  objects 
both  animate  and  inanimate.  Incidentally  it  ren- 
ders the  accurate  adjustment  of  gun  ranges  almost, 
if  not  altogether,  impossible. 

One  of  the  most  curious  incidents  of  the  whole 
war  happened  in  connection  with  a  mirage,  and  on 
the  very  spot  over  which  I  drove  that  first  day  out 
in  the  desert.  But  I  shall  come  to  that  presently. 

We  swung  round  a  circle  across  the  trackless 
waste  and  came  up  along  the  south  wall  of  Basra 
to  an  ancient  gateway.  Seen  from  the  outside,  it 
is  a  picturesque  old  town  with — what  should  one 
say? — the  charm  of  Oriental  unreality.  It  has  flat 

119 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

mud  roofs,  high  ornamental  copings,  round,  low 
domes,  and  slender  minarets.  And  the  sun-yellows 
and  golden  browns  of  it  tone  with  the  tawny  desert 
sands  and  are  flecked  here  and  there  with  glancing 
shadows  from  tall  palm-trees. 

I  wondered  how  we  dared  to  drive  into  the  place 
in  a  big  seven-passenger  touring-car,  but  the  people 
had  evidently  learned  how  to  get  out  of  the  way  of 
automobiles  and  they  showed  no  resentment  what- 
ever when  they  had  to  flatten  themselves  for  their 
lives  against  walls  that  our  mud-guards  barely 
cleared.  In  fact,  they  seemed  to  enjoy  it,  and  they 
laughed  and  waved  their  hands  at  us.  Sometimes 
there  was  not  room  for  both  them  and  the  car  in 
the  same  street,  and  they  would  have  to  run  on 
ahead  of  us  and  seek  safety  in  doorways  or  little 
open  shops.  But  never  mind.  It  was  all  very 
friendly. 

We  drove  into  the  narrow,  dim  bazaar,  arched 
overhead  and  lighted  only  by  slender  streaks  of 
sunlight  which  found  a  way  into  the  darkness 
through  clefts  and  crannies  in  the  vaulting.  Every 
town  in  Mesopotamia — and  in  Syria  and  Arabia 
and  Persia  and  Turkey — has  its  bazaar.  And  they 
are  all  alike  except  that  some  are  more  dilapidated 
and  more  oppressive  with  dank  and  evil  odors  than 
others.  A  bazaar  is  always  a  street,  or  a  network 
of  streets — if  such  lanelike  passages  can  be  called 
streets — covered  from  the  sun  either  with  stone 
vaulting — sometimes  very  fine  and  sometimes  not 
so  fine — or  with  ragged  reed  mats  or  old  bits  of  can- 
vas or  any  unsightly  thing  that  happens  to  be 
available.  They  are  lined  on  either  side  with  small 

cubicles  in  each  of  which  some  merchant  displays 

120 


NOT  THROUGH  A  PORT-HOLE 

his  merchandise,  while  he  sits  on  the  floor,  as  a  rule, 
with  his  legs  tucked  under  him,  leisurely  pulling  at 
the  amber  stem  of  the  long  tube  of  a  hubble-bubble. 

There  is  a  certain  fascination  in  the  very  word 
bazaar,  and  one  expects  to  catch  glimpses  of  tempt- 
ing things  that  will  make  one's  last  dollar  seem 
ripe  for  spending.  But  there  are  few  places  left  in 
the  world  where  treasures  do  not  have  to  be  dili- 
gently searched  for.  The  world's  collectors  have 
been  everywhere  and  the  people  of  the  remotest 
places  who  own  curious  things  have  learned  the 
Occidental  value  of  them. 

Not  that  one  would  ever  expect  to  find  anything 
in  a  town  like  Basra;  yet  it  is  a  town  now  largely 
inhabited — on  its  outskirts,  at  least — by  the  kind 
of  foreigners  who  buy  tempting  things,  and  at  al- 
most any  kind  of  price.  And  a  majority  of  the  mer- 
chants are  Jews  and  Persians  who  are  not  cut  off 
from  certain  areas  of  supply. 

A  great  many  of  the  fine  things  that  are  sold  in 
the  Near  East  come  from  Persia  and,  the  war  not- 
withstanding, there  are  no  unusual  restrictions  on 
travel  or  business  in  Persia. 

Nevertheless,  one  gets  an  impression  that  the 
whole  Basra  bazaar  is  draped  in  cheap  ginghams 
and  gaudy  calicoes,  while  the  only  "objects  of  art'* 
to  be  seen  are  hideously  tawdry  Japanese  articles 
that  one  knows  were  turned  out  in  the  same  spirit 
of  commercial  conquest  which  at  one  time  caused 
the  "Made  in  Germany"  trade-mark  to  stand  in 
the  world's  mind  for  all  that  is  mediocre  and 
offensive. 

Outside  of  the  bazaar  Basra  is  a  town  of  small 
pictures  and  seems  to  be  inhabited  chiefly  by  a  lot 

121 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

of  delightful  persons  who  exist  for  nothing  but  to 
pose  round  in  attitudes  of  grace  and  subtle  allure- 
ment. There  is  a  winding  creek,  walled  with  ma- 
sonry, spanned  by  arching  footbridges  and  lined 
on  either  side  with  houses  that  are  built  of  golden- 
yellow  clay  and  have  projecting  balconies  painted 
green  and  pink  and  brilliant  blue.  And,  driving 
along  the  edge  of  this  creek,  one  sees  veiled  women 
with  long-necked,  beautiful,  brown  water-jars, 
standing  on  moss-green  steps  under  bending  palms. 
Or  a  long,  slender  belum  may  glide  swiftly  by,  filled 
with  women  wearing  cerise  and  gold  and  bright 
purple  abahs.  Also  there  are  always  black-robed 
and  ebony-faced  slave  women  washing  clothing  at 
the  water's  edge  or  playing  with  small  companies 
of  laughing,  half-naked,  adorable  children. 

Then,  through  a  narrow  street  and  round  a  cor- 
ner, where  a  camel  stands  munching  disdainfully 
in  a  queer  angle  of  a  crumbling  ancient  wall,  you 
Come  into  the  city  square  and  up  to  the  old  cara- 
vanserai. I  was  interested  in  that  because  I  had 
read  in  the  private  note-books  a  good  many  frankly 
blasphemous  accounts  of  the  early  days  when  the 
serai  was  the  only  shelter  the  young  British  officer 
had  in  Mesopotamia. 

The  lawless  Arabs  had  not  then  been  cleared  out 
of  the  population,  and  the  peacefully  inclined  had 
not  yet  had  demonstrated  to  them  the  advisability, 
not  to  say  the  tremendous  advantage,  of  settling 
down  under  British  law  and  order.  There  was 
hardly  an  Arab  who  did  not  possess  a  gun,  and 
many  of  them  had  well-stocked  arsenals,  as  the 
British  discovered  when  they  began  a  systematic 

search  for  arms. 

122 


NOT  THROUGH  A  PORT-HOLE 

It  is  said  that  the  average  Arab's  highest  ambition 
in  life  is  to  become  the  owner  of  a  good  rifle  and  one 
hundred  rounds  of  ammunition.  These  are  his 
equivalent  for  our  "vine  and  fig-tree"  or  our  ten 
acres  and  a  team  of  mules.  With  a  good  rifle' and 
one  hundred  rounds  of  ammunition  he  can  go  raid- 
ing, have  a  wonderful  time,  and  make  that  kind 
of  living  for  an  indefinite  period.  Or  he  can  join 
the  "army"  of  some  desert  chieftain,  be  taken  care 
of,  and  have  all  the  wild  excitement  his  heart 
desires. 

When  the  British  entered  Basra  the  town  was 
being  looted  and  all  the  peaceful  citizens  were 
either  in  hiding  or  had  placed  themselves  on  the 
defensive.  A  proclamation  was  instantly  posted 
calling  upon  the  people  to  preserve  order  and  to 
observe  certain  rules  laid  down.  It  decreed  that  all 
looting  must  stop  and  said  that  certain  crimes — 
robbery  under  arms  being  among  them — would  be 
punished  by  established  and  well-known  military 
methods. 

But  it  happens  that  robbery  under  arms  has  been 
one  of  the  principal  Arab  industries  for  ages,  so  it 
was  not  as  easy  as  one  might  think  to  make  a  de- 
cree against  it  effective.  There  was  one  case  of  it 
after  another;  the  troops  were  so  busy  elsewhere 
that  an  adequate  patrol  could  not  be  provided, 
and  conditions  became  intolerable.  It  was  decided 
that  something  would  have  to  be  done  about  it, 
and  this  is  what  happened: 

A  robber  was  caught  red-handed  one  night  in 
the  act  of  holding  up  two  Arab  dancing-girls  who 
were  on  their  way  home  with  their  earnings  from  a 
party  at  which  they  had  performed,  and  the  general 

123 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

officer  commanding  decided  that  instead  of  sending 
him  for  a  long  period  to  the  jail  that  was  already 
overcrowded,  he  would  have  him  publicly  flogged 
in  the  open  square.  He  would  make  an  example  of 
him  and  put  the  fear  of  the  wrath  of  the  British  in 
the  hearts  of  his  brethren. 

The  square  is  surrounded  on  three  sides  by  many- 
windowed  buildings,  and  along  the  fourth  stretches 
the  low  wall  of  the  caravanserai,  outside  of  which 
there  is  a  coffee-house,  or  a  trellis-covered  open 
space  filled  with  benches  and  wooden  divans  where 
the  male  population  congregate  every  afternoon  to 
gossip,  to  smoke  their  hubble-bubbles,  and  to  drink 
innumerable  small  cups  of  coffee  or  innumerable 
small  glasses  of  some  kind  of  syrupy  mixture. 

The  population  was  advised  that  the  terrible  ex- 
hibition was  to  take  place  and  the  population 
gathered  at  the  appointed  hour  in  full  force.  Even 
the  roofs  were  black  with  people,  and  the  windows 
and  balconies  were  jammed.  A  cordon  of  troops 
was  drawn  up  round  the  flogging-board  and  ma- 
chine-guns were  trained  on  the  square  from  roofs 
on  either  side — this  to  prevent  any  kind  of  demon- 
stration or  disorder — and  when  everything  was  in 
readiness  the  culprit  was  led  forth  and  strapped 
into  place. 

Everybody  ought  to  have  been  horrified.  The 
British  expected  everybody  to  be  horrified.  But 
not  at  all!  The  girls  who  had  been  the  victims  of 
the  robber  and  on  whose  account  he  was  about  to 
undergo  this  most  ignominious  of  all  punishments 
had  brought  a  number  of  friends  to  see  the  show 
and  had  disposed  themselves  comfortably  in  a  long 
window  which  commanded  a  perfect  view  and  in 

124 


NOT  THROUGH  A  PORT-HOLE 

which  they  were  the  observed  of  all  observers. 
They  were  all  dressed  up  in  their  best  abahs  and 
veils  and  were  perched  on  a  bench  of  some  sort, 
giggling  and  having  the  time  of  their  young  lives. 
And  a  broad  smile  of  pleasant  anticipation  illumined 
the  countenance  of  everybody  present. 

The  British  major  who  had  charge  of  the  proceed- 
ings told  me  about  it  and  said  that  he  felt  all  the 
time  as  though  he  were  standing  on  a  volcano  of 
mirth  that  was  likely  to  explode  at  any  moment. 
However,  he  and  his  troops  were  solemn  enough. 
To  them  it  was  a  "horrible  example"  and  they 
hated  it. 

He  gave  the  command  for  the  floggers  to  proceed, 
the  while,  so  he  says,  he  gritted  his  teeth  and  cut 
the  palms  of  his  hands  with  his  finger-nails  in  the 
intensity  of  his  disgust  with  the  thing  he  was  com- 
pelled to  do.  But  at  that  moment  the  bench  on 
which  the  girls  were  squatting — that  is  what  they 
do;  they  squat — gave  way  and  they  all  fell  back- 
ward, some  of  them  with  their  feet  waving  in  the 
air,  and  the  crash  was  the  signal  for  a  roar  of  laugh- 
ter from  all  sides.  The  wretched  creature  strapped 
to  the  flogging-board — and  with  a  stripe  or  two 
already  laid  across  his  back — raised  his  head  and 
joined  in  with  the  utmost  heartiness,  while  the 
floggers  and  the  British  soldiers,  in  their  amusing 
efforts  to  keep  their  faces  straight,  added  to  the 
general  fiasco. 

After  that  what  could  serious-minded  Englishmen 
do  who  were  determined  to  see  established  a  reign 
of  law? 

After  that  they  decreed  that  hanging  should  be 
the  punishment  for  robbery  under  arms,  and  the, 

125 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

next  scene  in  the  public  square  was  not  so  merry. 
There  were  two  hangings,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  right 
there  in  full  view  of  the  whole  population.  Then 
robbery  and  thieving  in  the  vicinity  of  Basra  sud- 
denly ceased.  It  was  as  though  the  Arab  had  said 
to  the  Englishman: 

"Oh,  well — if  you  are  as  serious  as  all  that  about 
it—!" 

In  that  dusty  and  unsightly  old  plaza  I  remem- 
bered another  scene  that  was  very  curious.  It  was 
a  scene  quite  forcibly  illustrative  of  British  view- 
points and  methods,  and  it  accomplished  a  purpose 
that  was  not  thought  of  at  the  time  in  connection 
with  it. 

The  corpse  of  a  stork  on  a  crepe-hung  bier  occu- 
pied the  center  of  the  stage,  and  the  human  interest 
consisted  largely  of  bitterness  in  the  heart  of  a 
British  Tommy. 

It  just  happens  that  the  stork  is  a  kind  of  semi- 
sacred  bird  to  the  Arabs,  and  the  country  is  filled 
with  them.  They  build  their  great  nests  in  the  tops 
of  the  palms,  on  house  cornices,  or  wherever  they  can 
make  them  balanceand  hold;  and  they  stalk  solemnly 
about  on  the  river-banks,  in  the  marshes,  and  over 
the  flat  roofs  of  the  villages  in  absolute  safety  and 
with  no  fear  at  all  of  human  beings. 

Whether  or  not  the  British  soldier  who  shot  a 
mother  stork  nesting  realized  the  nature  of  his 
offense  is  not  shown  in  the  evidence.  It  is  only 
shown  that  wantonly,  and  to  no  purpose  other  than 
to  display  his  marksmanship,  a  British  soldier  shot 
a  mother  stork  nesting.  There  was  a  great  to-do 
about  it  and  Master  Tommy  was  placed  under 
arrest. 

126 


NOT  THROUGH  A  PORT-HOLE 

The  case  went  up  to  the  same  general  officer 
commanding  who  had  ordered  the  flogging  of  the 
robber,  and,  being  a  G.  O.  C.  with  an  imagination, 
he  pronounced  a  unique  sentence.  He  thought  it 
would  probably  do  the  young  Britisher  good  to  be 
laughed  at  by  the  Arab  population,  so  he  had  the 
body  of  the  dead  bird  stuffed  and  laid  out  in  state 
in  the  center  of  the  square.  Then  he  ordered  the 
boy  in  khaki,  sick  with  chagrin,  to  do  sentry-go 
over  it  eight  hours  a  day  for  one  week,  two  hours 
on  and  two  hours  off,  beginning  at  six  o'clock  in 
the  morning. 

But,  strange  to  relate,  the  Arabs  did  not  laugh. 
They  regarded  the  strange  spectacle  with  the 
utmost  seriousness,  and,  shaking  their  heads  in 
grave  appreciation,  said: 

"These  Englishmen  are  just  men.  They  punish 
their  own  for  outraging  our  customs  and  offending 
us.  They  respect  our  beliefs,  our  laws,  and  our 
time-honored  usages  as  they  require  us  to  respect 
theirs.  At  last  we  have  come  under  even-handed 
and  impartial  justice!  Allah  be  praised!" 


STRENGTHENING   THE   FOOTHOLD 

IF  the  British  had  been  able  to  settle  down  at 
Basra  and  do  nothing  but  guard  from  that 
mere  foothold  in  the  land  the  approaches  to  the 
Persian  Gulf,  the  Mesopotamian  story  would  have 
been  a  vastly  different  one.  If  they  had  been  able 
to  suspend  military  operations  until  some  measure 
or  preparation  had  been  made  to  continue  them,  the 
Mesopotamian  story  would  have  been  different. 
In  either  case  it  is  not  unlikely  that  the  men  in 
command  of  things  would  have  been  condemned 
for  inaction. 

They  were  condemned,  anyhow,  and  rightly, 
perhaps.  But  it  has  to  be  admitted  that  up  to  a 
certain  point  their  whole  course  of  action  was  de- 
termined, not  by  any  one's  impetuosity  or  personal 
ambition,  but  by  the  actual  necessities  of  the  situa- 
tion. 

The  Turkish  army  was  divided  into  three  sec- 
tions, and  after  the  British  occupation  of  Basra 
one  of  these,  under  Subhi  Bey — a  former  Wali,  or 
military  governor  of  the  Basra  district — took  up  a 
strong  position  at  Qurnah,  about  forty-six  miles  to 
the  north,  where  a  branch  of  the  Euphrates  flows 
into  the  Tigris.  Here  Subhi  Bey  was  in  easy  com- 

128 


STRENGTHENING  THE  FOOTHOLD 

munication  with  Baghdad  and  could  be  rapidly  re- 
inforced. 

At  the  same  time  the  main  Turkish  strength, 
under  Suleiman  Askeri,  was  in  process  of  concen- 
tration and  organization  on  the  Euphrates  for  a 
massed  descent  via  the  old  stronghold  of  Shaiba, 
which  lies  about  twelve  miles  northwest  of  Basra 
and  was  held  at  that  time  by  a  mere  handful  of 
British  troops. 

The  third  section,  amounting  to  eight  battalions 
and  some  ten  thousand  well-armed  Arabs,  was  con- 
centrated on  the  Karun  River  in  Persia,  threatening 
the  Anglo-Persian  oil-fields  from  that  direction  and 
seriously  undermining  the  power  of  the  loyal 
Sheikh  of  Muhammerah  by  disaffecting  thousands 
of  his  tribesmen  either  through  bribery  or  by  re- 
ligious misrepresentation.  This  being  at  a  time 
when  the  Kaiser's  "holy  war" — which  puffed  itself 
out  with  the  foul  breath  of  its  own  unholiness — 
seemed  to  have  a  chance  of  success. 

So  it  happened  that  the  Turks  had  something 
to  say  with  regard  to  what  the  British  should  do. 
To  establish  security  of  position  in  the  land  the 
British  were  compelled  to  resume  offensive  opera- 
tions, and  at  once,  the  object  being  to  drive  the 
enemy  back  on  all  sides  to  points  as  far  removed  as 
possible  from  the  borders  and  coasts  along  which 
lay  Britain's  greatest  danger.  This  necessitated  a 
division  of  the  British  troops,  and  they  were  so  far 
outnumbered  by  the  enemy  that  the  entire  force  was 
needed  really  to  attack  even  one  of  the  Turkish  po- 
sitions. However,  no  British  fighting-men  ever  yet 
hesitated  to  take  the  short  end  of  an  uneven  struggle. 

The  first  thing  to  be  done  was  to  attend  to  Subhi 

129 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

Bey,  and  this  they  did  forthwith.  Mud  and  mid- 
winter miseries  notwithstanding,  it  was  exceedingly 
rapid  action.  Basra  was  occupied  on  the  23d  of 
November,  and  on  the  9th  of  December  Subhi  Bey, 
forty-six  miles  away,  was  attacked  and  forced  to 
surrender  with  four  guns  and  more  than  one  thou- 
sand men. 

This  was  a  splendid  small  victory,  but  the  greater 
part  of  Subhi  Bey's  division  retreated — or  fled — 
and,  being  strongly  reinforced,  took  up  a  position 
early  in  January  about  six  miles  north  from  Qurnah 
on  the  now  tragically  historic  east  bank  of  the 
Tigris.  And  there  they  were! 

In  the  mean  time  the  enemy  on  the  Euphrates 
came  down  and  achieved  a  surprise  attack  on  the 
British  at  Shaiba,  the  ensuing  battle  being,  up  to 
that  time,  the  severest  and  hardest-fought  engage- 
ment in  the  Mesopotamian  campaign.  It  was  dis- 
tinguished by  a  number  of  unique  features  and  cul- 
minated in  the  strange  incident  of  the  mirage  to 
which  I  referred  in  the  last  chapter. 

There  is  a  great  area  to  the  westward  of  Basra 
that  is  inclosed  within  a  flood-controlling  embank- 
ment known  as  the  Shaiba  Bund.  And  this  area 
was  then  deeply  flooded. 

As  I  have  said,  the  Turks  delivered  a  surprise 
attack  and  the  shortest  way  for  British  reinforce- 
ments to  reach  the  small  company  of  men  who  were 
holding  the  old  fortress  was  across  this  basin.  Some 
of  the  troops  marched  across  in  water  that  in  places 
was  up  to  their  armpits,  while  others  commandeered 
all  the  belums  there  were  in  the  vicinity  of  Basra 
and  poled  themselves  across  under  heavy  fire,  fight- 
ing as  they  went. 

130 


STRENGTHENING  THE  FOOTHOLD 

The  main  struggle,  however,  was  in  the  dry, 
open  desert,  and  for  a  good  many  hours  it  was  any- 
body's battle.  It  was  going  very  badly  for  the  Brit- 
ish, and,  though  they  were  in  overwhelmingly 
superior  numbers,  it  was  going  very  badly  for  the 
Turks  as  well.  This  the  British  officer  commanding 
did  not  realize,  and  he  was  just  on  the  point  of 
giving  an  order  for  retirement — which  probably 
would  have  been  fatal  to  the  British  in  Mesopo- 
tamia!— when,  to  his  astonishment,  he  discovered 
that  the  enemy  was  in  full  retreat. 

The  British  had  no  reserves.  They  were  all  in. 
But  the  Turkish  commander,  who  really  ought  to 
have  been  more  familiar  with  local  phenomena,  saw 
approaching  from  the  southeast  what  looked  to  him 
like  heavy  British  reinforcements,  and  he  ordered 
an  immediate  retreat. 

Then  his  already  unnerved  troops  stampeded, 
while  his  demoralized  rear-guard  was  hounded  and 
harassed  all  the  way  to  Khamisseyeh,  nearly  ninety 
miles  away,  by  great  bands  of  nomad  Arabs  that 
had  been  hanging  on  the  flanks  of  both  armies, 
waiting  to  take  spoils  of  whichever  side  should  be 
vanquished. 

The  desert  was  shimmering  with  mirage,  and 
what  the  Turkish  commander  mistook  for  a  fresh 
British  force  was  nothing  but  a  supply  and  ambu- 
lance train  that  had  made  its  way  around  the 
flooded  area  and,  being  magnified  and  multiplied 
by  the  deceptive  atmosphere,  was  coming  up  across 
the  desert  in  a  low-rolling  cloud  of  its  own  dust. 
Suleiman  Askeri  learned  the  truth  a  few  days  later — 
and  the  British  were  told  that  he  committed  suicide! 

And  while  all  this  was  going  on  a  third  British 

131 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

force  had  to  be  despatched  against  the  Turkish 
position  in  Persia.  This  operation  was  also  suc- 
cessful, and  by  the  end  of  May  the  enemy  had  been 
cleared  out  of  Persia  altogether.  They  were  thrust 
back  to  the  Tigris  line,  while  General  Townshend's 
army — the  famous  army  of  the  siege  of  Kut — at- 
tacked the  Turkish  force  on  the  east  bank  of  the 
river  and  drove  them  northward  beyond  Amara, 
covering  ninety  miles  in  less  than  four  days. 

General  Townshend  occupied  Amara — the  prin- 
cipal town  on  the  Tigris  between  Basra  and  Baghdad 
and  one  hundred  and  thirty  miles  by  river  from 
Basra — on  the  3d  of  June,  and  he  was  joined  about 
two  weeks  later  by  the  troops  that  had  been  operat- 
ing in  Persia  and  that  had  made  their  way  across 
the  difficult  country — then  under  summer  floods — 
all  the  way  from  Ahwaz. 

And  so  began  and  developed  the  forever-to-be- 
reuiembered  hot-season  campaign  of  1915  which 
was  to  end  in  such  fearful  disaster.  At  which  point 
I  shall  leave  for  the  time  being  the  military  opera- 
tions, and  in  doing  so  I  must  take  occasion  to  dis- 
avow what  may  seem  to  be  an  intention  on  my  part 
to  write  a  history  of  the  war  as  it  has  been  fought 
in  the  Mesopotamian  zone. 

I  do  not  know  how  to  write  military  history,  and 
can  only  tell  a  few  stories  more  or  less  as  they  were 
told  to  me,  while  I  follow  the  British  army  up  the 
river  that  is  specially  interesting  now  because  that 
army  has  made  it  so.  Without  a  brief  review  of 
the  operations  it  would  not  be  possible  to  present 
any  kind  of  picture  of  things  as  they  have  come  to 
exist. 

There  is  very  little  fighting  during  the  hot  season 

132 


STRENGTHENING  THE  FOOTHOLD 

nowadays.  It  is  as  though  the  contending  forces 
had  entered  into  a  sort  of  compact,  the  Turks 
having  as  little  liking  as  the  British  for  the  mur- 
derous sun  and  the  unbelievable  temperatures. 
But  during  that  first  terrible  summer  they  had  to 
fight,  and  under  conditions  that  would  now  be  con- 
sidered wholly  intolerable. 
10 


CHAPTER  IX 

INTRODUCING  THE   "POLITICALS" 

IT  may  be  that  the  presence  of  the  Political  Com- 
missioners in  the  Mesopotamia  war  zone  im- 
parts to  the  situation  a  certain  air  of  mystery,  but 
if  so  it  is  only  because  "making  a  mystery"  of 
things  is  one  of  humanity's  chief  delights. 

The  Political  Commissioners  contribute  a  con- 
siderable sum  to  the  general  scheme  of  things  and 
there  is  one  located  at  every  important  point  in 
the  occupied  territory. 

But  their  title  is  an  unfortunate  one.  It  is  not 
improbable  that  to  the  English  mind  it  conveys 
exactly  the  right  idea,  but  in  the  gradually  devel- 
oped American  view  the  word  "political"  has  come 
to  suggest  something  rather  unpleasantly  subtle 
— not  to  say  underhanded  and  altogether  repre- 
hensible. 

These  men  in  Mesopotamia  should  be  called 
Civil  Commissioners,  perhaps.  They  constitute  a 
kind  of  balancing-bar  between  normality  of  govern- 
ment and  actual  military  rule,  and  their  duties  are 
to  see  that  the  life  of  the  people  goes  on  in  the 
usual  way,  to  introduce  necessary  measures  of  re- 
form in  matters  directly  affecting  the  civil  popu- 
lations, to  keep  open  a  friendly  communication  be- 

134 


INTRODUCING  THE  "POLITICALS" 

tween  the  Arab  head  men  and  the  British  military 
authorities,  to  collect  taxes  and  to  maintain,  in  so 
far  as  it  is  possible,  the  ordinary  routine  of  govern- 
mental procedure. 

It  is  a  very  useful  service,  and  when  the  war  is 
over  and  the  troops  are  withdrawn  it  will  have 
prepared  the  way  for  the  easy  and  peaceable  es- 
tablishment of  civil  government  on  a  much  higher 
plane  of  civic  morality  than  the  peoples  of  Mesopo- 
tamia have  ever  known  anything  about. 

The  men  are  all  Deputy  Political  Commissioners 
as  a  matter  of  fact;  the  one  and  only  P.  C.  being 
Sir  Percy  Cox,  who  directs  the  work  from  General 
Headquarters  at  Baghdad.  So  throughout  the  land 
they  are  known  as  D.  P.  C.'s.  There  are  A.  D.  P. 
C/s,  also — even  D.  P.  C/s  requiring  assistants — 
and  it  was  an  A.  D.  P.  C.  that  the  D.  P.  C.  of  the 
Basra  district  took  me  one  day  to  visit. 

We  invited  to  go  with  us  a  visiting  major-general 
from  the  Euphrates  front  and  a  very  useful  young 
gentleman  to  whom  Arabic  is  all  but  a  mother- 
tongue  and  who  was  in  Basra  fitting  out  for  an 
expedition  into  the  depths  of  the  Arabian  wilderness. 

The  D.  P.  C.  and  the  visiting  general  and  I  took 
General  MacMunn's  somewhat  rickety  but  always 
reliable  Ford,  while  the  visiting  general's  A.  D.  C. 
and  the  adventurer-into-waste-places  took  the  D. 
P.  C/s  big  service  car,  and  at  an  early  hour  we 
were  on  our  way. 

Basra  or  Zobier  or  both  was  or  were  the  home 
port  or  ports  of  Sindbad  the  Sailor.  Each  of  them 
claims  this  honor,  but  neither  of  them  as  it  now 
exists  was  the  city  the  Sailor  knew.  Basra  was  the 

135 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

great  ancient  city,  and  the  ruins  of  it — a  wide 
area  of  curiously  mounded  sand — lie  seven  miles 
or  so  to  the  south  of  the  comparatively  modern 
town  of  Basra,  while  Zobier  is  about  five  miles  fur- 
ther on,  a  walled  town  in  the  naked  desert.  It  was 
to  Zobier  that  we  were  going. 

We  drove  through  the  dingy  bazaar  and  a  dozen 
winding,  lanelike  streets  of  Basra  city  and  came 
out  at  the  Zobier  Gate  in  the  south  wall. 

Basra  city,  incidentally,  has  something  like 
thirty-three  thousand  inhabitants  and  is  rich  by 
virtue  of  its  date-plantations,  there  being  more 
than  eleven  million  trees  within  the  area  it  domi- 
nates. In  ordinary  times  its  export  of  dates  equals 
its  import  of  everything,  and  the  plantations  give 
employment  to  thousands  of  men  and  women. 

The  Zobier  Gate  is  flanked  on  either  side  by  two 
old  round  towers  falling  into  ruin,  while  a  short 
distance  away  stands  a  medieval  -  looking  fort 
with  battlemented  walls,  high-arched  portals,  and 
square  watch-towers  rising  from  the  corners  of  it. 
There  are  palm-trees  behind  it  and  at  its  base  is  a 
deep  hollow,  like  a  great  drained  basin,  in  which 
hundreds  of  commissariat  camels  are  quartered. 
With  the  camels  are  many  Bedouins  in  graceful 
long  abahs  and  with  shaggy  hair  that  falls  from 
under  bright-checked  kuffiyehs.  A  picture  of  the 
East  most  Eastern! 

Leading  out  across  the  desert  from  the  gateway 
there  is  a  track  in  the  deep  sands  to  which  the 
Sheikh  of  Zobier  likes  to  refer  as  one  of  his  "de- 
velopments." It  is  marked  chiefly  by  the  carcasses 
of  dead  camels  and  donkeys  and  by  piles  of  bleach- 
ing bones,  but  here  and  there  one  comes  upon 

136 


INTRODUCING  THE  "POLITICALS" 

evidences  of  scrapings  and  gutterings  which  indi- 
cate an  intention  on  the  part  of  somebody  to  make 
a  road  of  it.  And  I  was  told  that  Sheikh  Ibrahim, 
seeing  British  roadways  under  process  of  construc- 
tion in  and  out  and  all  round  the  district,  decided 
that  a  proper  highway  between  Basra  and  Zobier 
would  be  a  valuable  contribution  to  the  general 
progress.  Whereupon  he  got  his  tribesmen  out  one 
day  and  they  began  work. 

In  places  they  managed  to  loosen  the  sand  to 
such  a  depth  that  no  automobile  could  possibly 
get  through  it,  so  we  found  it  necessary  to  make 
frequent  detours  out  across  the  unimproved  plain. 

The  road  leads  directly  through  the  mounded 
ruins  of  ancient  Basra,  in  which  archeological  ex- 
cavators have  made  great  gashes  and  out  of  which 
for  a  dozen  centuries  or  more  a  large  part  of  the 
building  material  has  been  taken  for  all  the  towns 
in  the  immediate  vicinity. 

Perhaps  the  most  interesting  thing  about  Zobier 
is  that  it  is  built  almost  entirely  of  bricks  from  this 
buried  city  of  the  early  world,  and  it  is  to  the  im- 
perishableness  of  these  bricks  that  it  owes  its  ap- 
pearance of  excellent  preservation  and  neatness. 
Most  Arab  towns  are  built  of  sun-baked  mud  slabs, 
and  they  soon  fall  into  unsightly  raggedness.  But 
these  bricks  of  Basra  were  molded  and  burned 
when  the  world  was  so  young  that  historical  vision 
gropes  along  its  then  paths  as  an  aged  man  might 
grope  in  his  inner  consciousness  for  glimpses  of 
his  earliest  infancy,  and  they  are  everlasting. 

Mr.  Howell,  the  D.  P.  C.,  had  notified  Mr.  Mc- 
Cullum,  the  A.  D.  P.  C.,  that  we  were  coming, 
and  if  Mr.  McCullum  had  thought  it  possible  that 

137 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

we  might  get  lost  in  the  labyrinthine  puzzlement 
of  his  old  town  he  probably  would  have  been  at 
the  desert  gate  to  meet  us. 

As  it  was,  we  drove  boldly  in.  Then  we  stopped. 
Mr.  Howell  had  been  there  only  once  before  and 
didn't  know  in  the  least  how  to  find  Mr.  Mc- 
Cullum's  house.  But,  having  a  command  of  the 
Arabic  tongue,  he  could  inquire.  And  any  one 
would  know  where  to  find  Mr.  McCullum  because 
he  is  the  only  white  man  in  the  place. 

We  stopped  an  ordinary,  every-day,  regular  boy 
and  asked  if  he  would  show  us  the  way.  Yes, 
he  would;  and,  like  any  ordinary,  every-day,  regu- 
lar boy  he  jumped  on  our  running-board  and  took 
charge  of  the  situation. 

We  learned  afterward  that  there  was  a  perfectly 
simple  route  which  we  might  have  taken,  through 
streets  that  are  wide  and  straight.  But  the  boy 
wanted  to  show  himself  off  where  the  crowds  con- 
gregate, so  he  guided  us  into  the  depths  of  the  dim 
bazaar,  where,  having  got  started,  we  could  do 
nothing  but  drive  on  with  a  hope  that  the  way 
would  open  up.  It  didn't.  A  terrified  population 
began  to  scatter  before  us,  and  we  began  to  worry 
about  the  big  car  behind  us.  If  it  tried  to  follow 
us  it  would  have  to  be  pried  out  in  parts  and  reas- 
sembled. Even  our  little  Ford  was  soon  wedged 
in  between  two  shops  where  its  mud-guards  had 
scraped  vegetables  off  the  display  stands  on  one 
side  and  piece  goods  off  a  street-side  counter  on 
the  other.  The  boy  was  scraped  off  the  running- 
board  and  fell  all  the  way  through  the  green- 
grocer's shop  into  his  back  garden.  Wliich  is  a 
bit  of  an  exaggeration  to  indicate  the  extreme 

138 


INTRODUCING  THE  "POLITICALS" 

shallowness  of  the  shop  and  the  narrowness  of 
everything — including  the  boy's  escape. 

I  wondered  why  the  Arabs  didn't  get  annoyed 
and  unpleasant  about  it.  But,  no.  They  only 
moved  themselves  and  their  merchandise  out  of 
our  devastating  way  and  laughed  with  huge  en- 
joyment. 

It  was  no  use  trying  to  go  on  unless  we  were 
prepared  to  cut  a  way  through  by  taking  the  fronts 
off  all  the  buildings,  and  even  a  Ford  would  be 
hardly  up  to  that.  So  we  decided  to  walk,  leaving 
the  chauffeur  to  get  himself  out  of  his  difficulties 
as  best  he  could. 

Incidentally,  it  was  a  mistake  to  worry  about 
the  big  car.  The  Adventurer  knew  the  way.  He 
knew  nearly  everything. 

As  for  the  boy,  he  had  greatly  distinguished 
himself  and  was  for  making  the  most  of  the  memor- 
able moment.  Also,  he  was  still  seriously  bent  on 
showing  us  the  way.  He  did  it  somewhat  after 
the  manner  of  a  playful  puppy. 

We  had  come  to  the  entrance  to  an  arcaded 
footway  which  wound  round  fascinating  corners 
and  seemed  to  be  intending  to  get  nowhere  in 
particular,  and  naturally  we  could  not  rush  through 
such  a  place,  especially  as  it  was  insufferably  hot 
in  the  sun,  while  under  the  high  ancient-brick 
vaulting  it  was  cool  with  a  soothing,  shaded  cool- 
ness. 

But  the  boy  thought  we  were  in  a  hurry,  I  sup- 
pose. Most  white  people  always  are.  He  would 
run  on  ahead  a  short  distance,  turn  round  and  look 
at  us  with  a  reproachful  air,  then  hurry  back  to 
rejoin  us.  With  considerable  gesticulative  indi- 

139 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

cation  of  direction  he  would  say  something  in 
clattering  Arab  to  the  D.  P.  C.,  then  rush  on,  only 
to  repeat  the  process  every  time  we  stopped. 

When  we  came  out  of  the  arcade  we  found  our- 
selves in  a  wide,  open  plaza  where  a  sale  of  camels 
was  in  progress.  There  were  hundreds  of  the  odorif- 
erous and  extraordinary  beasts  lolling  about  in 
every  conceivable  camel  attitude,  while  many  Arabs 
in  rich  abahs  and  aristocratic-looking  kuffiyehs  went 
about  among  them,  feeling  their  humps  and  ex- 
amining their  points  with  judicious  solemnity. 

And  there  were  groups  of  African  slave  women 
here  and  there,  sitting  in  the  glare  of  the  sun 
under  the  almost  grim  heaviness  of  the  all-envelop- 
ing black  robes  they  nearly  always  wear.  As  we 
passed  by  they  covered  their  faces  with  their  hands, 
palms  out,  to  ward  off  the  evil  spell  we  were  sup- 
posed to  be  able  to  cast  upon  them. 

The  A.  D.  P.  C.  is  a  young  man  who  specialized 
in  Arabic  at  Dublin  University  for  no  reason  ex- 
cept that  he  was  fascinated  by  Eastern  lore.  He 
had  no  thought  of  turning  his  specialty  to  uses 
that  would  be  of  value  to  his  country — until  the 
war  began.  Now  he  lives  all  alone  at  Zobier — 
sometimes  not  seeing  a  white  man  for  weeks  on 
end — and  he  makes  use  of  his  accomplishment  in 
language  and  his  love  of  Arabian  life  and  institu- 
tions to  the  end  that  Sheikh  Ibrahim  and  his 
numerous  retainers  maintain  an  active  and  friendly 
association  with  the  British  authorities. 

When  we  reached  Mr.  McCullum's  house  we 
had  plodded  a  long  way  in  the  hot  glare  through 
a  street  that  was  ankle-deep  in  fine  sand  and  lined 
on  either  side  by  high  walls  that  were  utterly 

140 


INTRODUCING  THE   "POLITICALS" 

blank  save  for  a  narrow  doorway  here  and  there. 
But,  once  inside  his  courtyard,  one  could  forget 
all  that.  One  stepped  into  a  scene  of  truly  Eastern 
comfort. 

The  court  was  sanded  and  bare,  but  skirting 
one  side  of  it  was  a  deep  veranda  upheld  by  noble 
Moorish  arches.  There  were  splendid  Persian  car- 
pets on  the  brick  floor,  while  a  small  table  under 
potted  palms,  surrounded  by  deep  wicker  chairs 
and  bearing  cool  liquid  refreshments,  gave  just 
the  touch  of  West  imposed  upon  East  which  the 
Westerner  always  manages  to  achieve  in  an  Eastern 
environment. 

Sheikh  Ibrahim  was  there  with  our  host  to  wel- 
come us,  and  the  first  horrible  thing  we  learned 
was  that  in  our  honor  he  had  prepared  at  his 
palace  a  great  feast.  It  was  only  ten  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  We  had  all  breakfasted  at  the  usual 
hour  and  we  were  not  ready  for  a  feast.  But  it 
is  part  of  the  job  of  the  Political  Commissioners  to 
keep  the  Arabs  pleased  with  themselves,  and  I  was 
assured  that  there  is  nothing  an  Arab  likes  better 
to  do  than  to  dispense  lavish  hospitality.  And 
when  it  comes  to  eating,  the  time  o'  day  means 
nothing  to  him. 

Of  course  we  would  have  to  go,  and  we  would 
have  to  eat  any  number  of  curiously  prepared 
things  and  do  it  with  a  pretense  at  least  of  whole- 
hearted enjoyment.  Otherwise  the  noble  Sheikh 
would  be  grieved,  if  not  actually  offended.  We 
discussed  the  matter  quite  freely  in  his  presence 
while  the  A.  D.  P.  C.  translated  the  discussion 
for  his  benefit  into  something  which  seemed  to 
please  him  and  at  which  he  bowed  and  made 

141 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

deprecatory  gestures.  I  gathered  that  he  consid- 
ered himself  unworthy  of  our  enthusiastic  appreci- 
ation. 

Sheikh  Ibrahim  is  all  that  any  one  could  wish  a 
noble  Arab  to  be.  He  is  not  a  great  chieftain  like 
the  Sheikhs  of  Kuweit  and  Muhammerah,  but  he 
is  important.  Moreover,  he  is  an  Arab  of  the 
desert  and  not  of  the  coast  or  the  banks  of  the 
rivers,  and  he  has  the  kind  of  fine,  aristocratic  face 
that  distinguishes  the  "people  of  the  camel." 

I  observed  at  once  that  his  beard  grew  in  the 
right  division  of  tufts  and  noted  in  detail  his  splen- 
did gold-embroidered  raiment.  He  was  charmingly 
and  completely  Arab,  and  as  he  placed  us  with 
consummate  dignity  in  the  position  of  honored 
guests  I  was  humbled  for  a  moment  by  the  thought 
that  in  his  environment  it  was  we  and  not  he  who 
were  "different."  In  which  connection  such  men 
as  he  are  blessed  with  a  benevolent  tolerance  about 
which  we  know  nothing  at  all. 

He  is  a  very  rich  man,  having  great  date-plan- 
tations, many  herds  of  camels,  and  the  right  to 
levy  tribute  from  a  numerous  tribe.  He  has  always 
been  friendly  toward  the  British,  but  at  the  be- 
ginning of  operations  in  Mesopotamia  he  had  to 
"trim"  very  carefully  between  them  and  the  Turks, 
because  he  knew  well  enough  that  if  he  displayed 
any  pro-British  sentiment,  and  the  Turks  hap- 
pened, even  temporarily,  to  win,  he  would  pay 
with  his  old  neck,  while  his  tribesmen  would  pay 
in  other  ways  with  their  numerous  lives. 

His  palace  is  just  over  the,  way  from  Mr.  Mc- 
Cullum's  house  and  has  but  one  opening  on  the 

142 


INTRODUCING  THE  "POLITICALS" 

street,  a  low-arched  but  rather  beautiful  doorway 
which  leads  into  a  courtyard,  and  as  I  passed 
through  that  doorway  I  felt  as  though  I  were  step- 
ping out  of  the  world  that  I  know  and  into  a  re- 
gion of  such  unrealities  as  fantastic  dreams  are 
made  of. 

On  two  sides  of  the  court  there  were  deep  ve- 
randas furnished  with  long  divans  thinly  uphol- 
stered and  covered  with  Persian  carpets.  And 
tied  to  short  pegs  driven  in  the  sand  were  a  dozen 
or  more  beautiful  falcons  wearing  funny  little 
brown  hoods  over  their  heads  and  eyes.  They 
are  blindfolded  thus  for  some  purpose  connected 
with  their  training,  but  I  don't  know  what  it  is. 
I  was  so  busy  seeing  things  that  I  forgot  to  ask. 
We  were  promised  a  hawking  expedition  in  the 
desert  after  the  feast,  but  we  lingered  too  long,  so 
I  missed  that. 

There  were  about  fifty  men  in  the  courtyard, 
standing  about  in  picturesque  groups  or  sitting 
Turk-fashion  on  the  divans,  and  each  of  them  car- 
ried a  rifle  and  had  a  long  knife  thrust  in  his  girdle. 
There  were  no  women  to  be  seen,  of  course,  but 
I  imagined  there  were  a  good  many  of  them  watch- 
ing us  from  the  high  latticed  windows. 

The  table  was  laid  on  an  inner  balcony  over- 
looking a  garden  which  bore  evidence  of  an  am- 
bition on  the  part  of  somebody  to  adopt  Western 
ideas.  There  were  formal  and  regular  flower-beds 
bordered  with  beer  bottles,  bottoms  up,  and  the 
feebly  growing  plants  were  set  in  even,  unhappy- 
looking  rows.  Only  the  palm-trees  seemed  to  be 
at  home,  and  they  had  a  hovering  kind  of  air  as 
though  they  were  trying  to  encourage  the  alien 

143 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

things  struggling  for  life  in  the  shade  of  their 
broad,  beautiful  leaves. 

I  wish  I  knew  what  we  had  to  eat.  The  table 
groaned  under  the  weight  of  a  superabundance  and 
was  the  most  extraordinary  sight  I  ever  saw. 

There  was  roast  lamb,  for  one  thing.  The  Arab 
roasts  a  young  lamb  whole — literally — and  lays  it 
out  in  state  at  the  head  of  the  table.  It  is  the 
piece  de  resistance  of  every  grand  feed,  and — hor- 
rible detail! — its  eyes  are  regarded  as  the  greatest 
delicacy  and  are  gouged  out  by  the  host  and 
offered  to  guests  of  honor  as  ceremonial  titbits. 
The  A.  D.  P.  C.  had  to  explain  to  the  Sheikh  that 
I  had  signed  the  pledge  on  lambs'  eyes  for  a  month 
as  an  act  of  spiritual  grace,  and  that  the  visiting 
major-general  never  ate  eyes  on  a  Tuesday.  Which 
was  perfectly  satisfactory  so  far  as  the  Sheikh  was 
concerned.  If  he  should  swear  off  on  lambs'  eyes  he 
would  resent  having  anybody  urge  them  upon  him. 

Then  there  were  great  platters  of  rice.  I  thought 
I  should  eat  some  of  that,  but  I  found  it  was  cooked 
in  a  curious  kind  of  oil  and  I  simply  couldn't  do 
it.  Neither  could  I  eat  the  white  stuff.  It  was 
served  in  ordinary  soup-plates  and  was  a  thick, 
sweetish  paste.  It  was  exceedingly  like  Hawaiian 
poi,  but  Hawaiian  poi  always  makes  me  think  of 
paper-hangers,  bill-posters,  and  cockroaches. 

There  were  many  varieties  of  vegetables,  but 
they  were  all  done  up  in  little  individual  packages 
wrapped  in  boiled  cabbage  leaves  and  dipped  in 
oil.  And  it  was  not  olive-oil.  I  don't  know  what 
it  was.  In  any  case,  I  didn't  like  it,  and  I  was 
afraid  to  force  myself  to  eat  it  because  it  would 
have  been  too  disgraceful  to — disgrace  myself! 


INTRODUCING  THE  "POLITICALS" 

There  was  plenty  of  plain  boiled  chicken  and 
a  little  nest  of  hard-boiled  eggs — peeled  and  dirty — 
at  each  plate.  I  repeeled  hard-boiled  eggs  and 
ate  them  diligently  for  an  hour  or  more,  thereby 
making  a  great  show  of  enjoyment  and — I  hope — 
satisfying  my  host.  But  it  was  an  awful  struggle. 

There  were  no  knives  or  forks  or  spoons  or  any- 
thing of  that  kind.  Everybody  ate  everything — 
including  the  paste  and  the  boiled  rice — with  his 
fingers,  and  the  first  thing  I  learned  was  that  to 
eat  with  the  left  hand  is  very  bad  manners.  Only 
the  low-bred  and  uncultivated  person  ever  touches 
food  with  the  left  hand.  You  eat  with  the  fingers 
of  the  right  hand  only,  and  afterward  the  servants 
— or  slaves — bring  round  brass  basins  and  graceful 
ewers  and  pour  water  for  you  while  you  clean  up. 
It  amused  me  to  find  a  piece  of  toilet  soap  of 
American  manufacture  on  the  edge  of  each  of  the 
basins,  but  goodness  knows  we  needed  it. 

The  British  in  their  dealings  with  the  brown 
peoples  of  the  earth  always  conform  to  the  cus- 
toms of  the  brown  peoples,  so  I  was  not  surprised 
to  find  that  our  "Politicals"  were  able  to  dispose 
of  Arab  food  in  Arab  fashion,  and  with  a  deftness 
that  no  Arab  could  surpass.  Moreover,  they  made 
no  wry  faces  over  it. 

There  was  a  Bedouin  boy  sitting  opposite  me 
who,  I  think,  was  the  most  beautiful  human  being 
I  ever  saw.  He  had  long,  lustrous,  heavy  black 
hair  that  hung  in  four  braids  down  his  shoulders 
from  under  a  splendid  kuffiyeh  that  was  bound 
round  his  head  with  ropes  of  silver  brocade  threaded 
with  red.  He  was  very  tall,  very  slender,  and  his 
long  black  abah  fell  in  billowing  folds  from  his 

145 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

shoulders  and  trailed  along  the  floor  with  a  lordly 
grace. 

His  features  were  all  but  faultless — as  clean-cut 
as  a  cameo — and  his  wonderful,  long-lashed  eyes 
were  golden  brown.  He  was  as  beautiful  as  a 
superb  woman,  yet  he  fairly  radiated  masculinity. 

He  was  a  rich  retainer  or  henchman  of  the 
Sheikh  and  he  had  come  in  from  the  far  desert  for 
a  conference  and  to  deliver  some  desired  informa- 
tion about  conditions  among  the  desert  tribes. 

When  we  had  done  as  much  justice  as  we  could 
to  the  amazing  banquet  we  went  out  into  the  front 
courtyard  to  see  the  riflemen  dance.  They  were  a 
wicked-looking  lot,  and  I  could  not  help  thinking 
how  easy  it  would  be  for  them  to  destroy  us.  If 
they  had  wished  to  do  so  it  would  have  taken  them 
about  seven  seconds.  But  they  were  friends  of  ours. 

Their  captain  drew  them  up  in  a  double  column 
and  barked  some  kind  of  command.  Then  to  the 
accompaniment  of  a  low-toned  staccato  chant  he 
began  a  slow,  flat-footed  dance.  They  took  up 
the  weird  song  and  fell  into  the  rhythmic  motion. 
The  chant  grew  gradually  in  volume  and  rapidity, 
as  though  gathering  momentum  for  a  mighty  out- 
burst, while  the  movement  grew  faster  and  faster. 
Then  the  outburst  came! 

It  was  the  wildest  thing  I  ever  saw  or  heard, 
and  within  a  few  moments  the  men  were  whirling 
round  the  court  like  mad  dervishes,  waving  their 
rifles  over  their  heads  and  brandishing  their  knives 
like  furies  making  for  bitterly  hated  prey.  It  was  a 
bit  too  thrilling  to  be  altogether  pleasant,  but  I  was 
assured  that  on  my  account  it  was  rather  a  tame 

146 


INTRODUCING  THE  "POLITICALS" 

performance.  The  men,  for  instance,  were  told 
not  to  fire  their  rifles,  though  the  end  of  such  a 
demonstration  is  always  a  fusillade  in  the  air  for 
the  sake  of  the  noise.  I  was  quite  satisfied. 

The  Sheikh  is  a  real  ruler  of  his  people  and  is 
autocratic,  being  his  own  lawmaker,  judge,  and 
jury.  Though,  to  be  sure,  he  has  a  council  and 
the  laws  of  the  tribes  to  interpret  that  are  older 
than  civilization.  Moreover,  if  he  did  not  rule  to 
the  satisfaction  of  the  ruled  there  would  soon  be 
an  end  of  his  power,  but  he  enforces  such  regula- 
tions as  are  applicable  to  an  unregulated  people 
with  admirable  strictness,  and  he  has  no  fear.  He 
is  a  type.  There  are  many  like  him. 

A  part  of  his  palace  is  a  prison.  And  such  a 
prison!  It  consists  of  a  few  windowless,  brick- 
walled  rooms  the  heavy  doors  of  which  open  onto 
an  inner  court  and  are  not  even  barred  for  the 
sake  of  light  and  air.  He  knows  nothing  about 
prison  reform,  that  is  certain. 

He  turned  a  great  key  in  one  of  the  locks  and  threw 
back  the  door,  disclosing  two  malefactors  sitting  to- 
gether, flat  on  the  floor,  in  stocks !  A  most  astonish- 
ing sight!  The  eyes  of  the  poor  creatures  blinked 
at  the  light  too  suddenly  let  in  upon  them,  and  they 
looked  very  uncomfortable  and  rather  foolish. 

And  the  medieval  implements  of  torture!  They 
served  to  strengthen  the  impression  I  had  that  I 
had  been  permitted  to  step  for  a  tune  away-way  out 
of  the  twentieth  century  and  back  into  another  age. 

All  of  which  is  merely  by  way  of  a  brief  journey 
off  on  a  by-path  for  the  sake  of  acquaintance  with 
peoples  and  with  certain  unique  and  interesting 
features  of  British  occupation  of  the  ancient  land. 

147 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

On  the  way  back  to  Basra  we  struck  straight  out 
across  the  desert  toward  the  old  fortress  of  Shaiba. 
We  came  up  to  the  wide-curving  trench-lines  of  the 
memorable  battle  of  the  Bund,  and  in  the  white  heat 
of  midafternoon  we  got  out  and  tramped  over  the 
whole  historic  field.  We  went  into  the  battered 
stronghold,  now  dismantled  and  empty,  and  re- 
viewed the  story  of  the  great  fight  with  much  grim 
evidence  of  its  fearf ulness  before  us.  A  battle  does 
not  have  to  be  fought  by  millions  of  men,  you  know, 
in  order  that  it  may  have  all  the  elements  that  go 
to  make  battles  great  historic  events.  The  battle 
of  Shaiba — known  severally  as  the  battle  of  the 
Bund  and  the  battle  of  the  Belums — fought  away 
out  on  the  Mesopotamian  plain,  was  a  great  his- 
toric event. 

Then  we  went  to  the  cemetery,  as  sad  a  spot,  I 
think,  as  there  is  on  earth.  It  is  so  far  away,  so 
lonely,  and  so  desolate.  Yet  there  are  a  few 
feathery  tamarisk-trees  hanging  over  the  graves, 
and  it  is  ground  in  which,  some  day,  grass  can  be 
made  to  grow. 

I  looked  at  the  long  rows  of  bare,  dry  mounds  and 
read  many  names  of  officers  and  men  that  are 
painted  on  the  rough  wooden  crosses.  And  I 
thought  less  then  of  the  sadness  than  of  the  splendid 
heroism  of  the  deaths  they  all  had  died.  The  of- 
ficers I  was  with  knew  most  of  the  officers  who  fell 
at  Shaiba,  and  to  them  the  visit  to  the  cemetery 
was  something  of  a  reverent  pilgrimage.  They 
stood  beside  the  graves  and  talked  reminiscently 
about  first  one  and  then  another. 

We  were  very  quiet  on  the  road  home. 


CHAPTER  X 

HOSPITALS  AND   THE   NURSING   SERVICE 

IN  the  beginning,  when  conditions  were  such  that 
the  Mesopotamian  campaign  got  itself  listed 
among  the  always  freely  aired  British  "blunders," 
what  probably  outraged  the  sensibilities  of  the 
British  public  more  than  anything  else — and 
rightly! — was  the  inadequacy  of  the  hospital 
services. 

The  first  expedition  was  undertaken  with  the 
idea,  apparently,  that  there  were  to  be  no  casualties 
anywhere  except  in  the  ranks  of  the  enemy.  Then 
events  transpired  with  unexpected  and  unexampled 
rapidity,  and  the  hospital  services,  being  the  last, 
it  seems,  to  receive  due  consideration  from  the  au- 
thorities at  the  sources  of  supply,  did  not  keep  pace 
in  expansion  with  the  constantly  expanding  scope 
of  the  operations.  Therefore  the  hospital  services 
got  a  black  mark  which  almost  tearful  medicos  will 
now  assure  you  they  never  did  deserve. 

In  any  case,  as  soon  as  their  inadequacy  became 
a  sufficient  disgrace  they  began  to  get  the  occasional 
undivided  attention  of  the  authorities,  with  the 
consequence  that  they  have  developed  to  a  point 
of  excellence  beyond  which  it  would  be  difficult 
to  go. 

11  149 


The  first  great  tented  hospital  I  saw  was  con- 
nected with  the  army  camps  in  the  extraordinary 
desert  city  of  war  behind  Basra.  But  it  must  be 
remembered  that  I  am  writing  after  a  rather  long 
and  varied  experience  in  Mesopotamia,  in  the  course 
of  which  everything  has  come  to  be  connected  in 
my  mind  with  everything  else,  so  I  am  able  now  to 
follow  in  memory  a  long  series  of  such  hospitals 
marking  distances  all  the  way  up  the  avenues  of 
communication  to  casualty  clearing-stations  behind 
the  battle-lines. 

From  the  casualty  clearing-stations  the  wounded 
are  transferred  by  hospital-boats  or  ambulance- 
trains  to  stationary  hospitals  that  are  located  at 
Baghdad  and  at  points  all  the  way  down  the  River 
Tigris. 

The  ambulance-trains  are  a  new  thing  in  Meso- 
potamia— the  railways  being  new — and  are  among 
the  things  to  be  regarded  as  extraordinary.  The 
Mesopotamian  services  have  so  few  facilities  and  so 
few  materials  of  construction  at  hand  that  when 
they  achieve  anything  in  the  way  of  successful  de- 
velopment it  means  more  than  the  same  kind  of 
thing  could  possibly  mean  anywhere  else. 

Housed  hi  the  finest  and  largest  buildings  in  all 
the  towns  there  are  stationary  hospitals  of  tremen- 
dous capacity  for  British  and  Indian  soldiers; 
officers'  hospitals  that  in  general  attractiveness  and 
completeness  of  equipment  could  hardly  be  im- 
proved upon;  isolation  hospitals  and  convalescent 
depots;  and  everything  everywhere  that  could  be 
regarded  as  requisite  to  the  best  possible  care  of  the 
sick  and  the  wounded.  There  are  between  forty 
and  fifty  thousand  beds  in  the  country  now,  and 

150 


HOSPITALS  AND  THE  NURSING  SERVICE 

hospital  expansion  is  kept  constantly  a  few  paces 
ahead  of  immediate  demand. 

An  Assistant  Director  of  Medical  Service  came 
to  dinner  one  evening  and  invited  me  to  go  with 
him  next  morning  down-river  to  Beit  Na'amah,  a 
particularly  fine  officers*  hospital  of  which  the  local 
medicos — and  this  A.  D.  M.  S.  especially — are  very 
proud.  And  with  reason. 

I  had  heard  much  about  "Baiten  Amah" — as  I 
spelled  it  in  my  own  mind — and  I  wondered  how  it 
happened  that  I  had  missed  seeing  it  on  my  way 
up-river.  Though  I  know,  of  course.  I  miss  any 
number  of  things  as  I  go  along,  and  all  through  an 
unfortunate  habit  I  have  of  losing  myself  in  con- 
templation of  fascinating  non-essentials.  When  we 
passed  Beit  Na'amah  I  very  likely  was  leaning 
against  the  starboard  rail  gazing  at  the  opposite 
bank  of  the  river  and  wondering  at  the  fringy 
featheriness  of  the  palm-trees  and  at  the  silvery 
shine  of  their  broad  dust-powdered  leaves  in  the 
morning  sunlight. 

The  word  "Beit"  means  house,  and  Na'amah 
is  the  name  of  the  family  that  owns  the  great  man- 
sion which  was  turned  by  war's  demand  into  a 
hospital  and  which  has  since  become  famous 
throughout  this  part  of  the  world. 

Whether  or  not  the  Na'amah  brothers  were  cele- 
brated before  the  war  I  cannot  say.  They  prob- 
ably were  on  the  Shatt-el-Arab,  but  if  their  name 
had  ever  gone  overseas  it  was  linked,  no  doubt, 
with  shipments  of  dates,  and  not  with  any  such 
association  as  it  now  bears  in  so  many  minds. 

There  are  four  Na'amah  brothers,  and,  as  they 

151 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

are  very  rich,  their  house  is  very  fine.  It  was  built 
to  accommodate  the  entire  family  and  all  the  family 
retainers,  and  it  has  an  ample  wing  in  which  a 
harem  of  more  than  fifty  women  was  maintained. 
The  place  was  "taken"  by  the  British  on  their 
advance  from  Fao,  because  it  was  necessary  then  to 
sweep  a  clean  path  up  to  Basra.  But  needless  to 
say  the  harem  was  not  disturbed  by  the  British 
soldiers,  and  this  fact  may  account  for  the  sub- 
sequent friendliness  of  the  family. 

It  was  recognized  at  once  that  the  building  was 
admirably  adapted  for  hospital  purposes,  but  it  was 
four  miles  down-river  from  Basra  and  very  much 
farther  by  road  across  the  desert  and  through  the 
date-gardens.  And  among  the  many  things  the 
British  army  did  not  possess  in  those  days  was 
transportation.  So  during  the  first  two  years 
nothing  was  done  with  the  place. 

But  came  a  time  when  General  Maude  was  con- 
centrating his  forces  in  the  north  for  the  great 
drive  which  carried  him  to  Baghdad  and  beyond, 
and  since  the  situation  had  by  that  time  developed 
to  the  "something  ought  to  be  done  about  it"  stage, 
things  began  to  move.  Without  warning  the  Di- 
rector of  Medical  Services  suddenly  issued  a  per- 
emptory order  that  Beit  Na'amah  should  be  made 
ready  within  two  weeks  for  occupation  as  an  of- 
ficers' hospital.  The  A.  D.  M.  S.  who  invited  me  to 
go  with  him  on  a  trip  of  inspection  happened  to  be 
the  officer  to  whom  this  order  was  given,  and  as  we 
slipped  down  the  river  that  morning  in  the  I.  G.  C.'s 
trim  little  launch — slowly,  at  my  request — he  was 
able  to  tell  me  in  entertaining  detail  all  about  how 
he  had  obeyed  it. 

152 


HOSPITALS  AND  THE  NURSING  SERVICE 

The  building  had  no  sanitary  arrangements  of  any 
kind,  and  the  only  water  available  was  in  the  river, 
whence  it  had  to  be  brought  by  carriers.  The  only 
lights  were  oil-lamps,  while  the  windows,  being 
too  small  in  any  case  to  admit  sufficient  light  and 
air,  were  all  heavily  barred.  It  was  not  only  the 
house  of  the  family  of  Na'amah,  it  was  the  strong- 
hold as  well,  designed  to  keep  out  raiding  Arabs  and 
to  keep  a  too  numerous  company  of  women  under 
proper  restraint. 

Operations  were  complicated  by  the  fact  that  the 
fifty-odd  women  of  the  harem  obstinately  refused  to 
move  out,  so  the  work  of  establishing  a  hospital 
in  one  wing  of  the  building  had  to  proceed  while  they 
presumably  looked  on  through  the  barred  and 
heavily  curtained  windows  of  another. 

There  was  considerable  hospital  equipment  in 
Basra  by  that  time,  but  it  had  been  brought  up 
by  the  ships  and  dumped  on  the  banks  of  the 
river  along  with  a  thousand  and  one  other  things. 
No  adequate  system  for  handling  materials  had  yet 
been  established,  everybody's  attention  being  con- 
centrated upon  the  pressing  and  always  increasing 
demands  of  the  armies  in  action. 

All  of  which,  in  a  way,  was  to  the  advantage  of  the 
major  medico  in  carrying  out  his  impossible  orders. 
Constituted  authority  being  very  much  engaged 
elsewhere,  he  was  able  to  eliminate  red  tape  and  to 
do  as  he  liked. 

He  commandeered  both  labor  and  materials  with- 
out asking  leave  of  anybody.  At  once  he  put  a 
small  army  of  men  to  work  cutting  out  windows, 
whitewashing  walls,  digging  sewers,  building  a 
water-tank,  laying  pipe-lines  and*  putting  in  plumb- 

153 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

ing,  installing  engines,  building  and  equipping  an 
operating  theater,  wiring  the  building  for  electricity 
and  putting  in  a  dynamo — doing,  in  short,  the 
thousand  and  one  things  needful,  and  doing  them, 
literally,  all  at  once. 

He  went  to  the  supply-dumps  without  detailed 
authority,  and,  finding  what  he  wanted,  took  pos- 
session of  it.  He  appropriated  everything  he  re- 
quired from  hypodermic  needles  to  power-pumps 
and  dynamos,  and  at  the  end  of  the  allotted  time 
he  had  provision  made  for  one  hundred  sick  or 
wounded  British  officers. 

No  wonder  he  is  proud  of  the  place.  It  really  is 
very  beautiful  now,  and  since  officers  like  it  better 
than  any  other  hospital  in  Mesopotamia,  it  has 
been  crowded  to  capacity  from  the  beginning,  its 
capacity  having  been  extended  by  this  time  to  in- 
clude the  entire  building.  It  is  a  long  Arabian 
structure,  with  the  usual  flat  roof  and  ornamental 
coping,  and  in  front  of  it  on  the  river-bank  there  is  a 
narrow,  quaint  garden  set  with  long,  even  rows  of 
low  orange-trees.  That  is  one's  first  impression. 
But  extending  to  the  rear  are  three  wings  surround- 
ing two  great  courts  that  are  flag-paved  and  have 
railed  balconies  and  in  the  walls  of  which  there  are 
beautifully  arched  windows  framing  grilles  of  deli- 
cately carved  wood. 

In  the  harem  wing  the  finest  wards  eventually 
were  established,  but  it  took  a  long  time  to  get  the 
women  to  move  out.  In  fact,  a  bit  of  dastardly 
strategy  was  resorted  to  in  the  end,  which,  while  it 
may  have  been  shameful,  had  the  desired  effect  of 
inducing  their  men  to  spirit  them  away. 

The  truth  is  that  they  were  not  supposed  to  be 

154 


HOSPITALS  AND  THE  NURSING  SERVICE 

there  at  all.  How  should  anybody  know  they  were 
there?  They  were  never  seen.  And  since  there 
were  no  nursing  sisters  in  the  hospital — only  or- 
derlies— the  men  felt  privileged,  perhaps,  to  re- 
lax somewhat  their  usually  strict  rules  of  pro- 
priety. Besides,  they  wanted  that  wing  of  the 
building. 

So  a  "swimmin'-hole"  was  staked  off  in  the  river 
and  a  spring-board  put  in  place  directly  under  the 
front  windows  of  the  harem  drawing-room.  After 
which,  at  certain  hours  each  day,  a  number  of  men 
were  detailed  to  parade  out  in  their  birthday  clothes 
and  dive  off  for  a  swim.  The  women  might  have 
been  able  to  endure  this  atrocity  indefinitely,  but 
it  was  known  quite  well  that  their  men  would  not. 
And  they  didn't.  There  were  rustling  noises  and 
much  muffled  talk  at  that  end  of  the  building  one 
night,  and  next  morning  the  harem  wing  stood 
empty.  Whereupon  the  immediate  and  rapid  es- 
tablishment of  the  fine  new  hospital  wards. 

It  is  now  a  model  institution,  with  everything 
looking  much  as  though  the  place  had  been  built  for 
a  hospital  and  had  been  in  existence  as  such  for 
many  years.  True,  there  are  a  few  Orientally 
gorgeous  and  gaudy  walls  left  to  remind  one  of  what 
all  the  walls  once  looked  like,  and  there  are  still 
worn  mud-brick  floors  in  some  of  the  wards.  More- 
over, the  fanciful  ornamentation  over  the  windows 
and  the  wide-arched  passages  leading  from  court 
to  court,  is  of  the  East  Eastern,  while  the  dust- 
harboring  but  beautiful  carved-wood  grilles  are 
most  unhospital-like.  But  scientific  exactness  and 
immaculateness  are  combined  in  the  place  with  an 
Old  World  grace  and  allurement  in  a  way  which 

155 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

easily  explains  why  officers  all  make  bids  to  be  sent 
there  when  they  are  ill  or  wounded. 

Aching  feet  muscles  are  not  among  the  things 
one  is  expected  to  mention  when  one  has  been  per- 
mitted to  enter  a  busy  and  forbidden  zone  of  war,  so 
I  said  nothing  about  mine  when  the  I.  G.  C.  in- 
vited me  that  afternoon  to  accompany  him  on  a 
tour  of  inspection  through  the  hospitals  of  Basra. 

"Oh,  very  well,"  said  I  to  myself,  "I'll  just  make 
a  hospital  day  of  it,"  and,  thinking  I  might  be 
needing  one  very  soon,  I  was  glad  they  had  such 
good  ones. 

The  hospitals  are  a  part  of  the  responsibility  of  the 
Inspector  General  of  Communications.  I'm  sure  I 
don't  know  why.  Except  that  "lines  of  com- 
munication" seems  to  be  an  all-embracing  title  and 
that  everybody  proceeds  on  the  basis,  when  in 
doubt— the  I.  G.  C. 

I  think  I  have  forgotten  to  say  that  few  of  the 
"finest  and  largest  buildings"  in  Mesopotamia  have 
been  found  adequate  for  war  hospital  purposes,  and 
that  in  connection  with  nearly  all  hospitals  for 
troops  there  are  acres  of  hut  wards,  the  "huts" — 
each  with  a  capacity  of  from  fifty  to  one  hundred 
beds — being  long,  narrow"  structures  of  imported 
uprights  and  crossbeams  hung  with  reed-mat  walls 
and  topped  with  double  roofs  of  heavy  mud  thatch 
designed  to  turn  the  fearful  rays  of  the  sun. 

At  Basra  there  was  one  dingy  old  building  on  the^ 
river-bank   which   used  to  be  the  up-river  occa- 
sional residence  of  the  Sheikh  of  Muhammerah.     It 
was  not  very  large,  and  in  every  way  it  was  most  un- 

156 


HOSPITALS  AND  THE  NURSING  SERVICE 

suitable,  but  the  Sheikh  donated  it  as  a  nucleus 
for  hospitals.  At  least  that  is  what  it  became,  and 
in  a  wholly  made-over  state  it  is  now  the  adminis- 
tration building  of  British  General  Hospital  No.  3. 

There  are  between  eight  and  ten  thousand  beds 
in  Basra,  so,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  this  old  resi- 
dence was  the  only  available  building,  I  need  no 
powers  of  description  to  present  a  picture  of  the 
hospital  area.  Just  as  the  camps  of  the  soldiers 
make  a  tented  city  in  the  desert,  so  the  hospitals 
make  a  unique  city  of  huts  on  the  river-bank. 

Attached  to  British  General  Hospital  No.  3  there 
are  a  number  of  hut  wards  for  prisoners,  and  these 
interested  me  particularly.  They  are  identical  with 
the  wards  for  British  soldiers  except  that  they  are 
guarded  and  inclosed  in  barbed-wire  entanglements. 
Their  capacity  is  seven  hundred  beds  and  they  have 
been  full  a  number  of  times,  the  occasion  being 
very  infrequent  when  there  are  less  than  two  or  three 
hundred  enemy  patients  to  be  taken  care  of. 

The  sick  or  wounded  Turk  gets  exactly  the  same 
treatment  the  British  soldier  gets,  and  I  am  told 
that  usually  he  is  quite  pathetically  grateful  and 
seldom  hesitates  to  say  that  he  is  much  better  pro- 
vided for  than  he  could  hope  to  be  behind  his  own 
lines. 

When  the  general  and  I  finished  our  long  tour  of 
inspection  we  were  joined  by  the  D.  A.  Q.  M.  G. — 
otherwise  the  major — and  we  all  went  for  tea  to  the 
Nurses'  Club. 

We  were  received  by  the  supervisor-general  of 
the  nursing  service,  and  if  I  were  a  nursing  sister 
I  suppose  I  should  regard  her  as  the  most  important 

157 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

person  in  all  Mesopotamia.  I  think  perhaps  I  do, 
anyhow.  Her  very  dignified  Christian  name  is 
Beatrice.  Nobody  would  ever  think  of  calling  her 
Beatrice,  of  course.  It  would  be  an  unimaginable 
liberty.  But  behind  her  back  the  sisters  call  her 
"Trixie"  and  talk  with  a  whimsical  kind  of  dis- 
respect about  her  almost  superhuman  efficiency. 

She  makes  all  the  rules  and  is  not  at  all  timid 
about  exercising  her  rule-making  prerogative.  With 
the  result,  I  would  say,  that  in  no  war  zone  in  the 
world  is  a  girl  in  the  uniform  of  a  nursing  sister  more 
secure  than  she  is  in  Mesopotamia. 

Not  to  be  able  to  accept  an  invitation  to  dinner 
at  an  officers'  mess  to  which  a  number  of  girls  are 
invited  and  over  which  a  high  ranking  officer  is  to 
preside?  That's  rather  severe!  Not  to  be  able  to 
so  much  as  stroll  with  an  officer  down  a  dusty  street 
in  the  open  glare  of  noonday?  That's  wholly  un- 
reasonable! Or  is  it? 

I  was  only  a  smiling  onlooker  and  I  loved  them 
all — girls  and  men.  I  wondered,  and  I  wondered. 
There  were  those  who  talked  to  me  about  rules  that 
hurt  the  pride  of  full-grown  women  and  make  them 
feel  as  though  they  were  in  boarding-school  or  still 
in  "leading-strings."  But  there  is  a  good  deal  of 
peevish  nonsense  about  that.  They  know  that  the 
strong  and  the  stanch  have  to  submit  in  all  walks 
of  life  to  regulations  intended  solely  for  the  safe- 
guarding of  the — possibly  weak. 

And  what  interest  would  there  be  in  the  mere 
routine  of  life,  anyhow,  if  there  were  no  rules  to 
break?  The  wise  supervisor-general  decrees  that 
two  or  more  sisters  together  may  do  more  or  less 
as  they  please  during  their  hours  off  duty.  Then 

158 


HOSPITALS  AND  THE  NURSING  SERVICE 

she  expresses  great  surprise  that  so  many  of  them 
get  engaged ! — and  married !  In  Mesopotamia !  It 
is  all  rather  wonderful — and  very  nice.  Rather  a 
delicate  subject,  though?  Yes,  but  I  don't  mind 
touching  upon  it — just  lightly. 

The  Nurses'  Club  was  instituted  and  endowed  by 
Lady  Willingdon  and  is  in  a  quaint  old  baked-mud 
building  on  the  Strand.  There  is  a  Piccadilly,  too,  as 
well  as  a  Bond  Street  and  a  Pall  Mall.  The  Britisher 
loves  home  so  much  that  he  takes  home  with  him 
wherever  he  goes. 

The  Strand  skirts  Ashar  Creek,  the  principal  one 
of  many  small  streams  that  flow  into  or  out  of  the 
Shatt-el-Arab,  and  is  a  street  I  wish  I  were  able  to 
describe.  Mostly  I  have  driven  along  it  with  my 
eyes  tight  shut  because  of  the  blinding  clouds  of 
dust,  but  if  only  once  I  had  seen  its  blank  walls,  its 
flat  roofs,  its  raggedness,  and  its  occasional  pro- 
jecting balconies  and  latticed  windows,  I  should 
remember  it  in  its  entirety  always. 

The  Nurses'  Club  is  done  up  in  pretty  curtains 
and  cretonne-covered  furniture,  and  it  has  quiet 
corners  where  sisters  may  read  or  write  in  secluded 
comfort;  and  so  far  so  good.  But  the  general  idea 
of  supervisors  and  such  directing  persons  is  that  it 
is  a  place  where  the  young  women  will  be  able  to 
combine  their  forces  for  the  endurance  of  the 
sometimes  unavoidable  presence  of  gentlemen  and 
where  they  can  receive  such  undesirable  persons  in 
a  sedate  and  proper  manner.  But  it  is  not  antici- 
pated by  those  who  are  in  a  position  to  speak  with 
authority  on  this  point  that  the  Club  will  ever 
serve  this  purpose  to  any  alarming  extent. 

There  are  many  palm-canopied  creeks,  you  see, 

159 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

where  orioles  and  kingfishers  play  from  curtain  to 
curtain  of  hanging  vines  in  the  sun-flecks  of  late 
afternoon.  And  these  creeks  are  filled  with  belums 
that  are  poled  or  paddled  by  picturesque  Arab 
boatmen — children  of  the  fascinating  land  who  are 
unable  to  understand  a  single  word  of  an  English 
conversation. 

In  a  cretonne-upholstered  corner  of  a  stuffy  club 
one  might  perhaps  talk  interestingly  enough  about 
Corporal  Carmichael's  wounds,  or  the  best  the 
Women's  Branch  of  Bombay  can  do  in  the  way  of 
new  books  for  its  gift  libraries.  But  in  the  mauve- 
lit  silence  of  a  placid,  high-banked  creek  .  .  . 

But  why  be  light-minded,  altogether?  Only  be- 
cause I  met  them  light-mindedly  after  I  had  met 
them — so  many  of  them — on  their  endless  rounds  of 
splendid  duty  in  the  wards  of  the  hospitals.  One 
wants  to  relax  with  them  and  for  them. 

They  really  are  an  amazing  sisterhood.  In  the 
beginning  it  was  thought  there  could  be  no  nursing 
sisters  in  Mesopotamia  because  the  conditions  were 
such  as  no  Englishman  would  ever  ask  a  woman  to 
endure.  But  the  women  had  something  to  say 
about  that,  and  eventually  they  began  to  arrive, 
small  units  now  and  then.  And  at  once  they  be- 
gan to  demonstrate  their  astonishing  powers  of 
physical  and  spiritual  resistance. 

Men  by  the  hundreds  get  bowled  over  by  the  sun, 
or  die  of  heat-stroke;  the  nursing  sister  miraculously 
escapes  this  greatest  of  all  the  dangers.  Men  by 
the  hundreds  are  incapacitated  by  sand-fly  fever 
and  other  maladies  peculiar  to  the  climate  and  en- 
vironment; the  nursing  sister  seldom  gives  up  to 
anything.  Men,  suffering  in  a  temperature  of  one 

160 


HOSPITALS  AND  THE  NURSING  SERVICE 

hundred  and  ten,  twenty,  thirty  degrees,  tortured 
by  insect  pests,  overworked,  unable  to  sleep,  get 
low  in  their  minds — hopelessly  dejected;  the  nurs- 
ing sister  is  always  cheerful  and  manages  in  some 
mysterious  way  to  keep  fit  and  to  look  fit  under 
any  and  all  circumstances. 

Yet  she  works  just  as  hard  as  any  man  and  has 
had  no  special  provision  made  for  her  general  com- 
fort and  well-being.  Work?  Well,  there  are  be- 
tween forty  and  fifty  thousand  beds  in  Mesopo- 
tamia, and  less  than  six  hundred  nursing  sisters  all 
told.  It  makes  a  nice  little  problem  in  calculation, 
even  though  you  do  count  the  nursing  sister  out  of 
all  the  evacuation  hospitals. 

The  general  and  the  major  and  I  said  our  good- 
bys  all  round,  made  our  variously  halting  and  inter- 
rupted ways  among  the  sisters  and  down  the  steep, 
ancient,  mud-brick  stairway,  and  climbed  into  our 
big  motor-car  with  sighs  of  relief  and  contentment. 

The  general  gave  the  soldier  chauffeur  some  orders 
— I  did  not  notice  what  they  were — and  soon  we 
were  spinning  out  over  the  hard-packed  sand  of  the 
desert  in  the  orange  light  of  a  marvelous  sunset. 

Gods  of  the  ancient  peoples!  No  wonder  they 
were  gods  of  the  sun — of  vivid  and  appealing  but 
ungraspable  things!  One's  heart  lifts  and  sings 
its  song  of  the  open  world ! 

We  swung  round  the  big  circle  marked  by  wheel 
tracks  and  came  up  past  the  old  fort  where  the 
camels  are,  and  thence  to  the  Zobier  Gate,  flanked 
by  the  crumbling  towers  that  stand  like  aged 
sentinels  at  the  desert's  edge.  We  thought  it 
would  be  a  good  idea  to  stop  there  and  climb  to  the 

101 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

top  of  one  of  them,  where  there  is  an  old  cannon 
lying  deep  in  the  dust,  like  a  crouching  blind  war 
dog  with  its  muzzle  nosing  the  rampart.  The 
general  wanted  to  show  me  the  arms  and  monogram 
of  King  George  III  of  England  that  are  engraved 
upon  it! 

"Very  likely/'  said  he,  "it  has  been  in  Boston 
Harbor  in  its  day." 

He  was  never  able  to  forget  that  I  was  an  Amer- 
ican, and  was  always  endeavoring  to  be  polite 
about  it. 

But  how  did  a  British  cannon  of  American 
Revolutionary  days  ever  get  on  that  old  Meso- 
potamian  tower?  It  reminded  the  general  of  the 
well-worn  story  about  the  Englishman  who  was 
showing  an  American  girl  through  St.  George's 
Chapel — or  some  such  place — and  who  pointed  out 
a  certain  tattered  battle-flag  with  the  remark: 

"We  took  that  away  from  Bunker  Hill." 

"Oh,  is  that  so?"  said  the  girl.  "But — I  suppose 
you  haven't  forgotten  that  we  still  have  the  hill?" 

The  general  liked  that  story  and  he  chuckled 
about  it  quietly — rather  musingly — while  the  major 
sat  away  out  on  the  muzzle  of  the  old  gun  and— 
with  his  thoughts  far  away,  no  doubt — hummed  a 
Honolulu  melody  to  the  slowly  dying  lights  in  the 
desert. 


CHAPTER  XI 

GENERAL  TOWNSHEND*S  ADVANCE 

TIEUT.-GEN.  SIR  STANLEY  MAUDE,  com- 
*-*  mander-in-chief  of  the  Mesopotamian  Expe- 
ditionary Force,  had  been  occupying  a  position  of 
first  importance  in  my  personal  scheme  of  things  for 
a  good  many  weeks,  and  while  I  knew  I  never  could 
have  landed  in  Mesopotamia  at  all  without  his  con- 
sent, it  had  been  so  thoroughly  impressed  upon  my 
mind  that  he  was  rigidly  opposed  to  admitting  to  the 
zone  of  his  military  operations  any  one  not  directly 
connected  with  the  services  of  war,  that  I  had  some 
doubts  with  regard  to  the  quality  of  the  welcome  he 
might  be  expected  to  extend  to  me. 

But  the  day  I  arrived  at  Basra  he  greeted  me  with 
a  telegram  which  served  to  dispel  all  my  misgivings, 
and  by  the  first  boat  down  from  Baghdad  he  sent 
me  a  letter. 

I  need  not  hesitate  to  say  that  I  stood  in  awe  of 
him  and  that  there  was  very  little  doubt  in  my 
mind  that  he  had  consented  to  my  visit,  in  the  first 
place,  with  considerable  reluctance.  But  I  was  to 
learn  afterward  that  he  never  did  anything  re- 
luctantly. Indecision  and  half-way  measures  were 
impossible  to  him,  and  he  never  could  have  sanc- 

163 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

tioned  anything  in  a  spirit  of  compromise.     He 
wrote  to  me: 

I  am  afraid  you  will  find  things  a  little  bit  rough  out  here, 
but  I  have  asked  General  MacMunn  to  make  you  as  com- 
fortable as  possible.  You  will  find  him  a  perfect  host  and  I 
am  sure  he  will  do  everything  for  you  that  is  reasonably  pos- 
sible under  existing  conditions.  He  will  be  able  to  advise  you 
as  to  your  tour  hi  Mesopotamia,  as  he  knows  the  ins  and  outs 
of  things  perfectly.  So  will  you  just  say  what  you  want  to  see 
and  he  will  be  able  to  suggest  the  best  way  for  giving  effect 
to  your  wishes. 

I  shall  be  very  glad  to  see  you  whenever  it  is  convenient  for 
you  to  come,  and  to  put  you  in  the  way  of  seeing  what  there 
is  to  be  seen.  I  hope,  too,  that  you  will  come  and  stay  with 
me  at  Baghdad.  You  will  not,  I  am  sure,  expect  too  much, 
and  all  I  can  say  is  that  we  will  make  you  as  comfortable  as 
we  can.  I  hope  your  visit  will  be  one  of  great  interest,  for  this 
is  indeed  a  wonderful  campaign  and,  with  its  peculiarities  and 
difficulties,  a  much  bigger  thing  than  most  people  imagine. 

A  much  bigger  thing  than  most  people  imagine! 
I  began  to  realize  that  immediately ! 

"When  Maude  went  north"  is  a  phrase  they  use 
now.  It  runs  like  a  thread  of  something  different 
through  the  usual  gray  fabric  of  local  conversation 
about  events  of  former  days,  and  it  lifts  the  hearts  of 
the  men  who  have  been  through  it  all;  the  men — 
so  many  of  them  still  in  the  Mesopotamian  zone — 
who  went  through  the  first  onrushing  advance; 
through  the  ill-advised  original  attempt  upon 
Baghdad;  through  the  subsequent  retreat  and  the 
long  siege  of  Kut-el-Amara;  through  the  hell  and 
the  slaughter  of  the  repeated  endeavors  to  relieve 
General  Townshend's  beleaguered  army;  through 
the  humiliation  and  heartbreak  of  defeat  and  sur- 
render; through  the  test  and  the  trial  and  the  tort- 

164 


GENERAL  TOWNSHEND'S  ADVANCE 

ure.    How  different  it   all   became  "when  Maude 
went  north"! 

The  operations  having  landed  General  Town- 
shend  in  Amara,  one  hundred  and  thirty-two  miles 
by  river  from  Basra,  the  Turks  proceeded  to  take 
up  a  strong  position  at  Kut-el-Amara,  one  hundred 
and  fifty  miles  farther  on,  where  they  commanded 
the  easiest  and  most  direct  routes  into  Persia. 
And  it  was  recognized  at  once  that  in  order  to  fore- 
stall a  possible  movement  of  the  enemy  back  into 
Persian  territory  Kut-el-Amara  would  have  to  be 
taken. 

Amara  was  occupied  on  the  3d  of  June,  1915 — I 
must  repeat  dates  occasionally,  if  you  don't  mind — 
and  there  General  Townshend  halted  long  enough  to 
enable  such  communication  services  as  then  existed 
to  establish  a  base  of  operations.  This  involved 
bringing  reserve  supplies  of  food,  forage,  and  mu- 
nitions up-river,  and  getting  ready  to  meet  an  in- 
evitable demand  for  rather  extensive  hospital 
facilities. 

I  am  writing  about  General  Townshend  as  though 
he  were  in  command  of  the  operations.  He  was  not. 
But  to  follow  the  comings  and  goings  of  a  succession 
of  commanders-in-chief  would  be  to  complicate  a 
story  which  I  wish  to  make  quite  simple  and  direct. 
Sir  John  Nixon  was  in  supreme  command  when  the 
advance  on  Kut  was  made.  He  was  succeeded  by 
Sir  Percy  Lake,  who  in  his  turn  was  succeeded  by 
Sir  Stanley  Maude. 

And  while  General  Townshend — a  division  com- 
mander only — was  reorganizing  his  forces  at  Amara, 
the  conimander-in-chief  was  directing  operations  on 
12  165 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

the  Euphrates,  where  a  second  British  army  was 
pushing  north  in  the  f  earf  ulness  of  midsummer  heat, 
through  midsummer  floods,  and  against  a  more 
stubborn  and  sustained  resistance  on  the  part  of 
the  enemy  than  any  Turkish  force  had  previously 
displayed. 

The  "peculiarities  and  difficulties"  of  the  Meso- 
potamian  campaigns  have  been  indeed  unique,  and 
one  wonders  now  that  men  have  overcome  them. 
In  retrospect  it  is  too  glaringly  apparent  that 
tremendous  and  inexplicable  mistakes  were  made  in 
calculating  material  requirements,  but,  as  I  have 
said,  necessity  urged,  and  the  only  instance  in  those 
days  when  unwise  counsel  prevailed  was  when  it 
was  decided  to  drive  on  to  a  spectacular  finish  an 
already  splendid  victory — before  adequate  prepara- 
tion had  been  made  for  a  further  advance.  This 
was  after  General  Townshend  had  occupied  Kut-el- 
Amara. 

The  original  occupation  of  Kut  was  a  curiously 
British  performance.  It  was  accomplished  really 
by  a  handful  of  men  who  were  annoyed  with  the 
enemy.  It  was  the  evening  of  September  28,  1915. 
The  British  force  had  advanced  up  the  river  from 
Amara  and  had  met  the  Turks  in  a  concentrated 
engagement  below  Kut,  the  Turkish  force  consisting 
of  three  divisions  and  a  mounted  brigade  under 
Nur-ud-Din.  As  night  began  to  close  down  the 
action  thinned  to  sporadic  shelling  from  both  sides, 
and  a  single  British  column  that  had  been  fighting 
all  day  in  the  desert  without  water  started  to 
make  its  way  toward  the  river,  only  to  find  itself 
in  a  short  time  marching  parallel  with  a  large  force 
of  Turkish  infantry.  The  situation  threatened  to 

166 


GENERAL  TOWNSHEND'S  ADVANCE 

develop  into  a  tight  corner  for  the  British,  and  that 
was  when  they  became  annoyed. 

Having  fixed  bayonets,  they  wheeled  to  an  order 
of  "Right  turn!"  and  marched  straight  toward  the 
enemy.  The  two  columns  were  less  than  a  mile 
apart  and  the  British  were  without  so  much  as  a 
sand-hill  or  tuft  of  desert  grass  for  shelter. 

The  Turks  took  cover  in  a  dry  deep  water-cut 
that  lay  on  their  line  of  march  and  opened  a  devas- 
tating fire  which  swept  the  British  ranks  in  their 
deliberate  advance  with  fearful  effect. 

Then  came  the  swift,  terrific  attack,  and  the 
British  line  plunged  forward.  It  was  too  much  for 
the  Turks.  Like  the  Germans,  they  abhor  the 
gleam  of  cold  steel.  They  broke  cover  and  fled  in 
the  utmost  confusion,  leaving  behind  them  numbers 
of  guns  and  much  else  in  the  way  of  valuable  im- 
pedimenta. And  this  precipitated  a  movement  of 
retreat  throughout  the  Turkish  ranks  which  very 
quickly  developed  into  a  veritable  stampede. 

And  so  it  was  that  Kut  was  occupied.  A  de- 
tachment marched  into  the  town  next  morning — 
September  29th — while  the  main  British  force  pur- 
sued the  fleeing  Turks  to  the  northward. 

From  Kut  to  Baghdad  it  is  two  hundred  and 
twelve  miles  by  river  and  only  one  hundred  and 
twelve  miles  by  the  land  route.  This  fact  is  a  suf- 
ficient commentary  on  the  extreme  crookedness  of 
the  Tigris,  and  I  might  add  that  above  Kut  some 
of  the  worst  shallows  are  encountered.  There  are 
stretches  here  and  there  that  are  all  but  unnavi- 
gable  when  the  water  is  low,  and  the  water  is  at  its 
kwest  just  before  the  rains  begin  in  late  November 
or  early  December.  And  be  it  remembered  that 

167 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

the  river  was  the  only  avenue  of  communication 
with  his  bases  of  supply  and  hospital  services  that 
General  Townshend  had. 

In  cold  official  statements  it  is  recorded  that 
General  Townshend  "pursued  the  routed  Turks 
with  the  utmost  vigor,"  but  he  was  a  fightin'-man 
and,  considering  the  fact  that  "an  army  travels 
on  its  belly,"  one  is  justified  perhaps  in  surmising 
that  he  was  carried  forward  by  the  impetus  of 
victory  farther  than  he  intended  to  go.  Or  was 
Aziziyeh  the  first  possible  place  where  a  halt  could 
be  called?  It  is  such  a  terrible  desert  land! 

In  any  case  no  stop  was  made  until  the  army 
reached  Aziziyeh,  sixty-one  miles  by  the  land  route 
from  Kut  and  one  hundred  and  two  miles  by  river. 
Half-way  from  Kut  to  Baghdad! 

The  Turks  meanwhile  continued  their  retreat  to 
a  previously  prepared  position  at  Ctesiphon,  forty- 
two  miles  farther  on. 

Then  came  the  fatal  decision.  General  Town- 
shend is  on  record  as  having  been  opposed  to  an 
immediate  advance  with  Baghdad  as  the  objective. 
He  recognized  the  inadequacy  of  his  communica- 
tions and  predicted  disaster.  But,  having  halted 
at  Aziziyeh  for  six  weeks  while  newly  captured  Kut 
was  provisioned  and  equipped  as  a  base  of  opera- 
tions, he  moved  on — in  obedience  to  the  order  of 
the  army  commander! 

The  operations  were  being  directed  as  a  matter  of 
fact  by  a  General  Staff  located  on  the  Olympian  and 
luxuriously  comfortable  heights  of  Simla.  But  the 
confidence  of  the  General  Staff  was  in  a  measure 
justified.  The  British  in  Mesopotamia  had  been  so 
consistently  successful  that  nothing  seemed  impos- 

168 


GENERAL  TOWNSHEND'S  ADVANCE 

sible  for  them  to  do.  They  themselves  were  in 
exuberant  spirits,  thrilling  to  the  blare  of  their  own 
trumpets  of  victory  and  treating  with  magnificent 
disregard  every  suggestion  of  caution. 

General  Townshend  proceeded  to  carry  out  the 
orders  he  had  received,  and  on  the  22d  of  November 
he  attacked  the  enemy  position  at  Ctesiphon. 
What  does  not  seem  to  be  very  generally  known  is 
that  he  achieved  a  brilliant  victory. 

He  captured  the  first  Turkish  line  almost  at  once, 
taking  thirteen  hundred  prisoners  and  eight  guns; 
then  he  stormed  the  second  line  and  thrust  the 
Turks  back  to  their  last  defense.  The  action  is 
described  as  having  been  magnificent  and  he  could 
have  driven  straight  through  if  he  had  had  behind 
him  anything  at  all  in  the  way  of  reserves  or  com- 
munications. He  had  nothing,  and  there  was 
no  way  on  earth  for  him  to  make  victory  finally 
victorious. 

On  the  23d — the  first  anniversary  of  the  occupa- 
tion of  Basra — the  enemy  was  reinforced  from 
Baghdad  and  the  north  in  tremendous  numbers,  and 
the  tide  was  turned. 

But  even  against  overwhelming  odds  the  British 
fought  on  with  the  utmost  valor  and  tenacity,  and 
it  was  not  until  he  discovered  that  the  enemy  was 
executing  a  wide  flank  movement,  with  every  pros- 
pect of  cutting  him  off,  that  General  Townshend 
decided  to  retire  on  Kut. 

Then  the  fearful  retreat  began — on  the  25th  of 
November.  It  is  difficult  even  on  the  spot  to 
visualize  the  horrors  of  such  a  retreat  in  such  a  land. 
Eight  days  it  took,  with  a  rear-guard  hammered  and 
harassed  every  foot  of  the  way  by  an  enemy  that 

169 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

had  suffered  long-drawn-out  defeat  and  was  now 
fighting  with  an  assurance  of  victory  and  a  hearten- 
ing knowledge  of  his  vastly  superior  strength. 

There  is  a  story  about  the  medical  and  communi- 
cations officers  who  were  waiting  in  Kut  for  orders 
to  move  on  up  to  Baghdad.  They  had  absolute 
confidence  that  Townshend  would  win,  and  several 
of  them  were  sitting  round  a  table  in  a  mess-room 
one  day  talking  about  how  they  would  spend 
Christmas  in  Baghdad,  when  suddenly  they  heard 
the  sound  of  far-away  guns. 

"My  God!  what's  that?" 

They  had  not  heard  even  a  rumor  that  a  retreat 
was  in  progress  until  the  retreat  was  almost  upon 
them.  Then  the  worn-out,  heartbroken,  bedrag- 
gled, unrecognizable  remnant  of  the  wonderful 
little  army  began  to  straggle  into  the  town. 

Kut-el-Amara  was  invested  by  the  enemy  on  the 
7th  of  December  and  the  long  siege  began. 

And  General  Townshend,  with  nothing  in  Kut 
but  the  meager  stock  of  provisions  that  had  been 
brought  up  as  advanced  base  supplies,  held  out 
against  the  constant  hammering  of  the  Turkish 
army  which  surrounded  him  for  one  hundred  and 
forty -three  days!  During  which  time  one  British 
division  after  another,  as  each  arrived  in  Mesopo- 
tamia, was  sent  in,  singly  and  practically  unsup- 
ported, to  hurl  itself  to  destruction  in  vain  attempts 
to  relieve  him. 

The  siege  of  Kut  was  a  mere  incident,  perhaps, 
in  the  great  world  struggle,  but  it  was  spectacularly 
tragic,  while  the  besieged  in  their  tenacity  and  en- 
durance displayed  a  heroism  that  could  not  possibly 
be  surpassed.  It  was  the  utmost. 

170 


GENERAL  TOWNSHEND'S  ADVANCE 

On  the  29th  of  April,  1916,  General  Townshend 
capitulated — not  to  the  enemy,  but  to  starvation. 
And  the  whole  valiant  army  went  into  captiv- 
ity, having  won  the  profound  respect  even  of  its 
captors. ' 


CHAPTER  XII 

LINES   OF   COMMUNICATION 

ONE  Colonel  Chesney,  a  great-uncle  of  the  In- 
spector-General of  Communications,  led  the 
expedition  which  placed  the  first  steamboat  on  the 
River  Tigris. 

He  started  in  1835.  From  first  to  last  it  took 
him  a  good  many  weary  months — two  years,  in  fact 
— and  the  record  of  his  historic  achievement  reads 
like  the  fevered  kind  of  fiction  that  is  written  not  to 
convince,  but  only  to  thrill  and  to  convey  one  in 
dreams  to  far-away  and  unimaginable  regions. 

The  expedition  started  from  England  with  two 
boats,  which,  being  landed  near  Antioch  on  the 
Orontes,  were  transported  in  parts  across  the  desert 
to  the  upper  waters  of  the  Euphrates,  where  they 
were  set  up  and  launched.  Only  one  of  them  suc- 
ceeded in  finishing  the  trip  down  to  the  Persian 
Gulf,  after  which  it  started  up  the  Tigris  toward 
Baghdad. 

No  Arab  of  those  days  had  ever  seen  any  kind  of 
steam-run  miracle  of  machinery,  and  to  many  of 
them  the  new  craft  was  a  thing  to  fear  and  some- 
times to  propitiate  with  prayers  and  offerings. 

But,  even  so,  they  were  not  so  very  far  behind  the 

172 


LINES  OF  COMMUNICATION 

times.  This  first  modern  navigator  of  the  Tigris 
was  born  along  about  the  time  the  steamboat  was 
invented;  and  one  remembers  that  on  the  occasion 
of  the  Clermont's  first  trip  up  the  Hudson  the  wholly 
Christian  crews  of  other  Hudson  River  boats  "in 
some  instances  sank  beneath  the  decks  from  the  ter- 
rible sight,  cr  left  their  vessels  to  go  ashore,  while 
others  prostrated  themselves  and  besought  Provi- 
dence to  protect  them  from  the  approach  of  the 
horrible  monster  which  was  marching  on  the  tides 
and  lighting  its  path  by  the  fires  it  vomited."  This 
being  from  a  contemporary  review,  quoted  in  a 
biography  of  Robert  Fulton. 

Organized  resistance  against  the  intrusion  of  such 
a  monster  in  peaceful  Arab  lands  was  inevitable,  and 
the  old  British  pioneer,  with  his  associates,  played  a 
merry  game  with  constant  and  fearful  danger,  with 
extraordinary  hardship,  and  with  heartbreaking 
delays  in  his  then  unprecedented  venture. 

But  no  doubt  he  had  wonderful  visions  to  en- 
courage him  and  keep  him  going — visions  of  the 
rapid  development  of  a  great  business  undertaking 
which  should  bring  to  early  realization  the  even 
then  much-talked-of  tapping  of  rich  regions  as  yet 
untapped  by  the  unfolders  and  expanders  of  world 
commerce.  He  did  not  live  to  reap  the  fruits  of  his 
intrepidity  and  enterprise,  but  perhaps  his  gallant 
and  courageous  spirit  stalks  to-day  up  and  down 
the  ancient  river  and  along  the  banks  of  the  Shatt-el- 
Arab  in  company  with  his  so  typically  British  great- 
nephew,  to  whom,  curiously  enough,  it  has  been 
given  to  bring  his  visions  to  spectacular  materializa- 
tion. If  so,  his  spirit  should  be  satisfied. 

With  him  on  the  expedition  was  one  Lieutenant 

•173 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

Lynch,  who  settled  in  Baghdad  as  a  trader  and  was 
joined  there  by  his  two  brothers.  These  men 
started  the  Lynch  Company  and  secured  from  the 
Turkish  government  a  concession  which  gave  them 
exclusive  rights  to  steam  navigation  on  the  Meso- 
potamian  waterways — the  Tigris  and  Euphrates  and 
Shatt-el-Arab. 

This  is  ancient  history,  but  the  Lynch  Company 
is  modernly  interesting.  They  were  conservative 
men  who  operated  conservatively  always,  but  the 
greatest  "boomers'*  alive  would  have  difficulty  in 
finding  anything  to  "boom"  on  the  Tigris  and 
Euphrates.  There  were  large  shipments  of  native 
products — dates,  licorice,  a  few  grains,  Persian 
treasures  in  carpets  and  fanciful  things — to  be 
brought  down-river  at  certain  seasons  for  the  ocean- 
going ships  at  Basra;  a  few  modern  things  had  to  be 
taken  in  to  the  populations  along  the  river-banks 
and  there  was  an  occasional  traveler  to  be  carried 
up  or  down.  But  there  was  never  anything  to 
necessitate  the  establishment  of  a  river  service  that 
was  other  than  leisurely  and  intermittent.  So  be- 
fore the  war  the  only  steam-craft  on  the  River 
Tigris  were  the  old  boats  of  this  company  that  for 
years  had  been  plying  in  a  stolid  kind  of  way  be- 
tween Basra  and  Baghdad. 

I  really  don't  know  how  many  there  were — two 
or  three,  perhaps — but  naturally  anything  that 
could  be  of  use  to  the  Turks  on  their  hurried  retreat 
was  commandeered,  and  the  British  found  the  con- 
quered waterways  empty  of  everything  save  a  few 
snail-paced  dhows  and  mayhalas  and  a  sufficient 
number  of  the  canoe-like  belums  which  are  owned  by 
individual  Arabs  for  the  most  part  and  are  not  of 

174 


LINES  OF  COMMUNICATION 

much  use,  anyhow.  Though  they  have  played 
their  interesting  and  sometimes  spectacular  part  in 
the  Mesopotamian  battles. 

From  the  gulf  up  to  about  twenty  miles  north  of 
Basra  the  Shatt-el-Arab  is  deep  enough  to  admit 
ocean-going  steamships,  but  above  that  point  the 
shallows  begin,  and  the  Tigris — which  flows  into 
the  Shatt-el-Arab  at  Qurnah — is  navigable  for 
nothing  that  draws  more  than  three  or  four  feet 
of  water. 

What,  then,  was  to  be  done  for  river  boats  when 
the  Expeditionary  Force,  pursuing  the  Turks  to  the 
northward,  got  so  many  miles  away?  The  opera- 
tions, which  carried  the  army  on  and  on,  proceeded 
with  a  rapidity  which  could  do  no  less  than  greatly 
strain  even  a  fairly  adequate  transport  service. 
What  it  did  to  a  transport  service  that  was  prac- 
tically nil  is  better  left  to  individual  conjecture. 

It  was  only  ten  months  after  the  first  landing 
was  made  by  British  troops  that  General  Townshend 
occupied  Kut-el-Amara,  two  hundred  and  eighty- 
five  miles  from  Basra,  and  by  that  time — thanks 
to  the  contributions  of  a  few  near-by  ports  and 
river  towns — the  available  river  shipping  amounted 
to  something  like  six  steamboats  of  sorts,  a  few 
barges,  and  an  established  chain  of  mahaylas  and 
dhows.  And  when,  some  six  weeks  later,  General 
Townshend  began  his  fatal  advance  toward  Bagh- 
dad, the  inadequacy  of  his  communications,  in  com- 
parison with  present  conditions,  was  all  but  criminal 
and  wholly  unbelievable.  For  instance,  he  was  pro- 
vided with  hospital  transport  for  not  more  than 
five  hundred  wounded;  at  Ctesiphon  he  was  one 
hundred  and  eighty-two  miles  by  river  from  his 

175 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

hospital  base  at  Kut,  and  in  two  days'  fighting  he 
had  four  thousand  five  hundred  casualties. 

Moreover,  at  that  time,  with  every  ounce  of  ma- 
terial of  every  kind  being  brought  in  from  over- 
seas and  unloaded  at  Basra,  where  the  building  of 
piers  and  warehouses  was  only  just  beginning,  the 
supply  and  transport  service  was  taking  care  not 
only  of  General  Townshend's  army,  but  of  the  force 
as  well  that  had  advanced  one  hundred  and  forty 
miles  up  the  Euphrates. 

Those  were  difficult  days,  but  I  think  I  must  pass 
them  by;  pass  by  all  the  worry  and  the  toil  of  them, 
and,  incidentally,  the  disgrace  which  eventually 
overwhelmed  the  men  who  were  held  responsible 
for  the  terrible  tragedy  of  them,  and  come  to  the 
time  when  General  Maude  went  north.  By  that 
time  the  British  had  paid  in  full  for  pressing  their 
luck  and  for  underestimating  the  strength  of  their 
enemy,  and  had  settled  down  to  the  grim  business 
of  exacting  payment  in  return. 

It  was  a  little  more  than  seven  months  after 
General  Townshend  surrendered  at  Kut  when 
General  Maude  launched  the  victorious  campaign 
which  landed  him  in  Baghdad,  and  when  he  started 
he  had  behind  him  lines  of  communication  fully 
organized,  with  more  than  one  thousand  steam- 
vessels  and  power-boats  of  various  kinds  plying  up 
and  down  the  River  Tigris.  What  a  difference! 
And  what  an  achievement! 

There  are  more  than  sixteen  hundred  bottoms 
now,  and  naturally  the  first  question  the  interested 
visitor  asks  is: 

"How  on  earth  did  you  do  it?" 

I  was  standing  on  an  upper  balcony  of  the  Lines 

176 


LINES  OF  COMMUNICATION 

of  Communication  headquarters,  talking  with  Gen- 
eral MacMunn,  when  I  asked  him  this,  and  he  ran 
his  eyes  up  and  down  the  rushing,  bustling  six- 
mile  length  of  Basra's  now  well-built  river-front 
and  smiled  a  twisted  smile  that  had  in  it  whole 
volumes  of  unpleasant  reminiscence. 

"We  did  it!"  he  answered,  grimly.  Then  he 
pointed  out  a  Thames  penny  steamer  bearing 
proudly  down  the  middle  aisle  of  the  crowded  stream 
with  two  big  barges  lashed  to  her  sides.  "We  did 
it!'*  he  repeated. 

"But  the  Thames  penny  steamer!  How  did  she 
get  into  the  Shatt-el-Arab?"  I  exclaimed. 

"  Under  her  own  steam!"  he  answered.  And  that 
is  the  whole  unimaginable  story. 

Remember  there  were  no  railways  and  no  roads; 
only  a  trackless  waste  rolling  away  to  the  north 
that  was  deep  in  dust  in  the  dry  seasons,  and  during 
the  rains  was  in  great  stretches  a  hideous  and 
dangerous  quagmire. 

River  boats  were  an  absolute,  a  primary  neces- 
sity. They  could  not  be  built  in  Mesopotamia,  nor 
anywhere  else  in  time  to  relieve  the  desperate  situa- 
tion. They  could  not  be  materialized  by  the  wave 
of  any  magician's  wand.  Well,  what  then? 

Then  they  would  have  to  come  out  of  other  rivers 
otherwheres  and  make  their  various  ways  somehow 
— no  matter  how! — across  the  seas  and  up  through 
the  Persian  Gulf!  They  were  requisitioned  from 
the  Ganges  and  the  Indus  and  the  Irawadi,  from 
the  Nile  and  the  rivers  of  Africa;  from  everywhere 
they  have  come.  It  has  been  one  of  the  bravest  and 
strangest  achievements  of  the  war,  and  one  hears 
with  a  feeling  of  specially  chill  regret  that  more 

177 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

than  eighty  of  them  have  failed!  A  few  from 
everywhere  have  gone — along  with  the  high  hopes 
of  British  sailors,  and  usually  with  the  sailors,  too — 
to  the  bottom  of  the  seas  they  were  never  meant  to 
venture  on.  / 

But  the  Thames  penny  steamers?  Where  is  it 
you  go  on  the  Thames  penny  steamers?  To  Rich- 
mond? To  Putney?  To  Henley?  To  queer  little 
landings  here  and  there  round  London  where  crowds 
of  people  gather  on  gala  days  and  where  happy  sum- 
mer memories  are  made?  Yes,  to  places  like  that. 
There  is  a  holiday  sound  in  the  very  name — Thames 
penny  steamer.  They  may  be  used  for  purely 
workaday  purposes;  I  do  not  know;  I  only  know 
I  went  to  Richmond  once  on  a  Thames  penny 
steamer. 

But  the  Thames  penny  steamers,  too,  were  needed 
on  the  Tigris. 

So  bravely  they  set  out.  Eleven  of  them  started, 
but  only  five  of  them  achieved  the  impossible. 
Five  of  them  got  to  the  Tigris  and  are  now  listed 
by  number  in  the  great  fleet  under  a  class  initial. 

As  I  watched  the  curious,  flat-bottomed,  high- 
funneled,  double-decked,  paddle-wheeled  little  craft 
churning  briskly  down-stream  with  her  two  clumsy 
barges  in  tow  I  was  seeing  visions  of  the  kind  of 
heroism  that  makes  one  prayerful. 

I  saw  first  the  matter-of-fact,  nonchalant  British 
sailors  on  her  frail  decks  preparing  for  such  a  voyage 
as  was  never  before  undertaken.  Then  I  saw  her, 
her  sides  boarded  up  and  her  one-time  spick-and- 
spanness  begrimed  with  the  coal  that  had  to  be 
stowed  in  every  possible  space,  moving  out  of  the 
snug  security  of  the  busy,  bustling,  city-bounded 

178 


LINES  OF  COMMUNICATION 

Thames  into  the  open,  high-rolling  Atlantic.  I  fol- 
lowed her  course  across  the  perilous  Bay  of  Biscay 
and  saw  her  creep  down  the  long  coasts  of  Portugal 
and  Spain  and  through  the  straits  past  Gibraltar. 

After  Gibraltar  would  come  a  hopeful,  careful, 
long,  long  crawl  across  the  mine-strewn  and  sub- 
marine-infested Mediterranean.  Port  Said  in  safe- 
ty !  Then  the  Suez  Canal — contributing  a  brief  pe- 
riod of  relaxation — the  Red  Sea,  the  Arabian  Sea, 
the  Persian  Gulf,  and  finally — with  what  a  sigh  of 
relief! — the  broad  current  of  the  Shatt-el-Arab 
and  the  almost  rippleless  serenity  of  the  blessed 
Tigris! 

I  don't  know  what  happened  to  the  six  that 
failed,  but  one  hears  that  "their  backs  were  broken 
by  the  high  seas."  That  was  the  chief  danger  they 
all  had  to  face;  they  and  the  hundreds  of  others 
from  other  far-away  rivers,  too.  More  than  eighty 
of  the  others  went  down  and  six  of  the  Thames 
boats!  They  should  be  honorably  counted  among 
England's  honorable  losses  at  sea,  and  they  never 
have  been.  Nobody  has  ever  paid  any  attention 
really  to  the  wonderful  Mesopotamian  story. 

Then  there  are  the  barges.  There  are  a  good 
many  more  barges  than  steamboats  on  the  Meso- 
potamian waterways.  They  represent  the  spirit 
of  economy  in  the  transport  service,  and  everything 
under  its  own  steam,  or  under  power  of  any  kind — 
including  dozens  of  the  grimiest  tugs  that  ever 
spilled  oil  on  clean  waters  and  filled  the  atmosphere 
with  unpleasing  odors — has  one  or  more  of  them  in 
tow.  Latterly  a  good  many  of  them  have  been 
brought  from  overseas  in  parts  and  set  up  in  the  new 
dockyard  on  the  river-bank  at  Basra — which  might 

179 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

have  been  a  German  dockyard  turning  out  U-boats 
for  the  Eastern  seas  but  for  one  fine  victory  that  is 
England's — but  in  the  beginning  numbers  of  them 
made  their  own  way  across  the  wide  waters  or  were 
towed  over  by  some  of  the  same  tugboats  that  are 
towing  them  now  round  about  in  the  placidity  of 
unruffled  rivers.  I  declare  it  is  a  story  one  cannot 
believe!  It  is  just  that  there  is  nothing  men  will 
not  attempt  and  cannot  do. 

Heaven  and  the  secretive  authorities  only  know 
how  many  barges  have  been  lost,  but  there  is  one 
story  I  have  which  throws  considerable  light  on  the 
performance  as  a  whole  and  which  serves  rather 
graphically  to  illustrate  some  of  the  difficulties 
men  may  expect  to  encounter  who  go  down  to  the 
sea  on  river  barges. 

One  Corporal  James  Harte,  of  the  naval  engineers, 
left  Aden  on  the  21st  of  May,  1917,  in  charge  of  a 
refrigerator-barge  that  was  in  tow  of  the  tug  Harold 
for  a  voyage  across  the  Arabian  Sea.  On  the  fourth 
day  out  from  Aden  Corporal  Harte  wrote  down  in 
his  log  a  brief  statement  to  the  effect  that  at  eight 
o'clock  in  the  evening  a  stiff  breeze  sprang  up  from 
the  southwest.  This  would  mean  that  the  seas 
began  to  roll  high  and  to  break  in  chopping  white- 
caps  wrhich  must  have  looked  menacing  enough  to 
men  on  such  a  vessel.  But  as  a  recorder  of  events 
the  corporal  seems  to  have  been  strangely  im- 
perturbable, as  his  next  entry  in  the  log,  dated  the 
following  day,  proves: 

About  three-thirty  A.M.  got  adrift  from  tug.  The  last  we  saw 
of  tug  she  was  astern  of  us  to  leeward.  She  sounded  her  hooter 
a  succession  of  long  blasts — for  about  two  minutes.  When  the 
hooter  stopped  she  had  disappeared. 

180 


LINES  OF  COMMUNICATION 

Was  ghastly  tragedy  ever  written  in  briefer  form 
than  that? 

The  high  wind  kept  up;  on  the  twenty-seventh 
there  was  a  heavy  sea  running  and  the  barge  had 
drifted  out  of  sight  of  land.  Then  Corporal  Harte 
and  his  men  rigged  a  jury-mast  and  a  square  sail 
and  prepared  to  navigate  on  their  own.  The  log 
continues: 

May  28. — At  daybreak  sighted  land  to  leeward  about  two 
miles  distant.  Blowing  too  hard  to  hoist  our  sail.  When  about 
a  mile  from  the  land  our  towing-gear  got  foul  on  the  bottom 
and  hung  us  up.  By  this  time  the  gale  had  nearly  blown  itself 
out  and  had  shifted  so  that. we  swung  clear  of  the  land.  About 
ten-thirty  P.M.  our  towing-gear  came  away  and  we  drifted  clear. 

May  29. — Sighted  land  again  to  leeward.  Hove  up,  slipped 
our  towing-gear  and  hoisted  sail,  but  could  not  get  the  barge 
to  fall  away.  Bent  3-inch  manila  to  stern  anchor  and  dropped 
it,  and  when  the  sail  filled  and  the  barge  swung  I  cut  the  hawser 
and  got  clear.  The  wind  was  W.S.W.  and  the  land  ran  out  to 
the  eastward.  We  just  managed  to  round  the  point  and  went 
away  to  the  N.E. 

It  was  northeast  that  Corporal  Harte  wished  to 
go,  and  it  seems  to  have  been  his  intention  to  sail 
that  unwieldy  barge  all  on  its  own  across  the 
Arabian  Sea  and  on  up  the  Persian  Gulf.  He  went 
ahead  for  forty-eight  hours  with  nothing  happening, 
evidently,  that  was  of  sufficient  importance,  in  his 
opinion,  to  set  down  in  the  log.  Though  it  seems 
to  me  that  if  I  had  been  in  his  place  I  should  have 
spent  all  my  spare  time  writing  an  account  of  my 
own  emotions  and  of  how  the  other  men  were  bear- 
ing up  under  their  unpleasant  prospects.  But  noth- 
ing like  that  for  an  all-in-the-day's-work  Britisher. 
On  the  31st  of  May  the  wind  shifted,  then  died 
13  181 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

down,  and  they  began  to  drift  in  toward  land.  In 
the  mere  human  nature  of  things  land  should  have 
looked  to  them  quite  inviting  enough  to  make  them 
glad  they  were  drifting  toward  it,  but  that  was 
not  what  they  wanted  at  all.  They  wanted  to  get 
on  with  their  job.  When  they  got  in  seven  fathoms 
of  water  they  dropped  their  anchor,  and  there, 
hopefully,  they  clung  for  three  days. 

On  the  4th  of  June  the  wind  came  up  from  west 
by  south,  so  they  weighed  anchor  and  headed  again 
for  the  northeast.  But  luck  was  against  them. 
They  were  becalmed  again  on  the  6th  and  began 
once  more  to  drift  in  toward  shore.  Their  doom 
was  not  sealed,  however,  until  the  following  evening 
when  "the  wind  came  on  to  blow  from  the  northeast 
and  blew  hard  all  night."  The  next  entry  in  the 
log,  which  the  corporal  managed  to  save  and  in 
which  he  continued  to  record  his  adventures,  reads: 

June  8. — At  about  four  A.M.  the  wind  shifted  more  to  the 
eastward  and  we  began  to  drag  our  anchors.  By  noon  we  were 
close  inshore.  The  cliffs  were  crowded  with  armed  Arabs. 
About  one-thirty  P.M.  our  rudder  struck  the  sand  and  I  hove 
in  on  the  anchors  in  the  hope  that  one  of  them  might  catch  a 
rock.  But  nothing  came  of  it,  and  at  two  P.M.  we  were  well 
aground  and  the  Arabs  swarmed  aboard.  By  three  P.M.  all 
the  crew  were  ashore,  the  Arabs  having  taken  everything  away 
from  them  except  what  they  wore. 

WTien  the  corporal  saw  the  Arabs  coming  aboard 
he  ran  aft  to  his  room,  with  an  intention  of  getting 
his  rifle  and  defending  himself.  But  they  were 
there  before  him.  One  already  had  his  rifle  and 
another  his  kit-bag,  while  he  was  just  in  time  to 
find  a  third  turning  out  the  contents  of  his  locker. 

182 


LINES  OF  COMMUNICATION 

I  snatched  my  bag  away  from  the  Arab  who  had  it  and 
threw  it  on  the  bunk.  Then  I  tried  to  take  my  rifle  away  from 
the  other.  He  would  not  let  go  and  struck  me  in  the  face  with 
his  fist.  There  was  a  boatswain's  fid  lying  on  my  bunk  and  I 
picked  it  up  and  knocked  him  down,  with  it.  Directly  I  did  I 
got  a  heavy  blow  on  the  head  and  the  next  thing  I  knew  I  was 
being  dragged  up  the  beach.  The  other  men  made  no  resistance 
and  were  not  ill-treated.  The  Arabs  who  helped  me  up  the 
beach  were  taking  no  part  in  the  looting  and  seemed  to  be 
friendly  enough.  They  asked  me  by  signs  if  there  was  any 
money  on  board,  and  I  made  them  understand  there  was  not. 
Then  they  made  signs  that  when  the  barge  was  stripped  the 
looters  would  come  and  cut  our  throats. 

I  should  like  to  tell  this  whole  story  in  the  man's 
own  language,  but  it  is  too  long.  He  managed  to 
convey  to  the  friendly  seeming  Arabs  that  if  they 
would  guide  him  and  his  men  to  Muskat  and  take 
care  of  them  on  the  way  they  would  be  liberally 
rewarded  by  the  authorities.  And  this  the  Arabs 
finally  agreed  to  do.  But  it  was  difficult  to  escape 
from  the  unfriendly  tribe;  and  afterward  came  a 
weary,  terrible  march  of  thirteen  days. 

The  first  night  they  lay  hidden  in  a  cave  in  the 
side  of  a  hill,  and  just  before  daybreak — his  interest 
in  his  barge  getting  the  better  of  his  fear  of  the 
Arabs — the  corporal  stole  back  down  the  beach  for 
a  final  inspection.  "She  was  lying  broadside  on 
the  beach,"  he  says,  "so  I  went  back  and  we  started 
off." 

The  way  lay  over  hills,  across  desert  wastes,  and 
along  the  cliffs  of  the  seashore,  and  a  good  part  of 
the  time  the  men  had  neither  food  nor  drink. 
Moreover,  it  was  June  and  the  heat  was  the  heat 
of  June  in  that  hottest  of  all  lands.  They  had  one 
box  of  biscuits  with  them,  and  at  Arab  encamp- 

183 


THE  WAK  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

ments  on  the  way  they  got  goats*  milk  and  water. 
But  the  water  in  the  wells  they  came  across  on  the 
long  daily  marches  was  nearly  always  brackish  and 
they  suffered  terribly  from  thirst.  Many  of  the 
Arab  encampments  they  had  to  avoid  because  they 
belonged  to  tribes  unfriendly  to  the  tribe  of  the 
men  who  were  guiding  them,  and  they  were  afraid 
of  being  held  for  ransom. 
The  corporal  continues: 

June  10. — The  Arabs  kept  urging  us  on.  They  seemed  to 
be  afraid  the  looters  would  come  after  us.  After  we  crossed  the 
hills  it  was  flat,  sandy  plain  and  the  heat  was  terrible.  We 
kept  going  until  after  sunset.  Then  we  stopped.  One  of  the 
Arabs  went  away  and  after  a  while  returned  with  water.  It 
was  very  bad  water,  but  we  were  glad  to  get  it.  After  a  drink 
and  a  biscuit  we  went  to  sleep. 

June  12. — Started  at  dawn  and  kept  on  going  until  four  P.M., 
when  we  reached  another  encampment.  At  that  encampment 
they  tried  to  induce  our  guides  to  get  me  to  write  to  Muskat 
for  money  and  to  keep  us  there  until  the  money  arrived.  Our 
guides  would  not  agree  to  that. 

June  14. — We  did  not  start  until  about  nine  A.M.  Then  we 
marched  till  it  was  almost  dark,  when  we  reached  a  well.  The 
well  was  empty.  By  that  time  we  had  finished  our  biscuits,  so 
we  lay  down  and  tried  to  sleep. 

It  was  not  until  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  of 
the  following  day  that  they  got  either  food  or 
water,  and  by  that  time  they  were  so  exhausted 
that  they  had  to  lose  a  day  in  order  to  rest.  After 
which  it  is  a  story  of  a  race  with  starvation.  One 
day  they  accidentally  discovered  a  large  nest  of 
turtle  eggs,  a  life-saving  incident  on  which  the 
corporal  makes  naKvely  gleeful  comment;  and  at 
the  last  encampment  they  came  across  they  were 

184 


LINES  OE  COMMUNICATION 

able  to  get  a  few  dates  to  carry  along  with  them. 
Then  comes  a  final  pathetic  brief  entry  in  the  record  : 

June  21. — Finished  the  dates. 

Two  days  after  they  finished  the  dates  they 
reached  their  destination — just  thirty-three  days 
from  the  day  they  left  Aden.  They  were  bathed 
and  fed,  looked  over  by  a  doctor,  and  put  to  sleep. 
But  Corporal  Harte  did  not  seem  to  be  interested 
in  being  invalided.  He  set  to  work  at  once,  and 
two  days  after  he  landed  in  Muskat  he  had  gathered 
together  the  necessary  paraphernalia  and,  accom- 
panied by  all  the  men  of  his  crew  who  were  fit  for 
service,  was  off  on  a  naval  vessel  to  rescue  his 
barge.  In  concluding  his  unemotional  statement 
he  says: 

I  would  like  to  add  that  from  the  time  we  got  adrift  until 
we  reached  Muskat  I  never  had  any  trouble  with  any  of  the 
men.  In  the  desert  when  we  were  hungry  and  thirsty  and  had 
no  tobacco  they  neither  groused  nor  whimpered,  but  took 
everything  as  a  jnatter  of  course. 

And  it  is  of  such  men  that  the  Inland  Water 
Transport  of  Mesopotamia  is  made  up.  If  it  were 
not  so  there  could  not  be  an  adequate  inland  water 
transport,  because  the  difficulties  have  been  such 
as  only  heroic  and  determined  men  could  overcome. 

Brig.-Gen.  R.  H.  W.  Hughes,  C.  M.  G.,  D.  S.  O., 
the  director  of  inland  water  transport — and  known 
in  Mesopotamia  as  the  D.  I.  W.  T. — sets  the  ex- 
ample of  imperturbability  and  seems  to  regard  the 
whole  amazing  performance  as  a  matter  of  course. 
I  tried  to  get  him  excited  about  it  so  he  would  tell 

185 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

me  stories,  but  he  was  interested  chiefly  in  a  great 
dry-dock  they  were  building  at  Basra.  He  could 
get  enthusiastic  about  that.  The  River  Tigris  with 
its  shallows  and  narrows  is  hard  on  steamboats  and 
they  get  out  of  repair  with  irritating  frequency. 
The  custom  has  been  to  beach  them  on  a  low  bank 
of  the  Shatt-el-Arab  at  Basra  and  make  the  repairs 
at  low  tide,  but  this  was  far  from  satisfactory,  so 
everybody  has  a  high  regard  for  the  new  dry-dock 
that  was  so  difficult  to  come  by  in  such  a  land. 

The  shipping  in  the  Tigris  is  now  divided  into 
classes,  and  everything  afloat,  of  whatever  variety 
of  craft,  carries  in  large  letters,  either  on  its  funnel 
or  on  its  bow,  a  number  and  the  initials  of  its  class. 
The  P-boats  and  the  S-boats  are  the  paddle- 
wheelers  and  stern-wheelers,  and  when  you  see 
"P-76"  or  "S-81"  steaming  up-river  you  realize 
that  these  classes  are  fairly  large. 

Then  there  are  the  S-T's — steam-tugs  by  the 
hundreds;  P-T's — paddle-tugs;  P-L's — power- 
launches  ;  F-B  's — flat-barges ;  S-B  's — steam-barges ; 
and  so  on.  And  there  is  a  new  variety  of  passenger- 
steamboat,  designed  to  carry  troops  and  built  or 
building  in  India,  which  are  paddle-wheeled,  but 
with  the  wheels  astern  instead  of  amidships.  They 
are  just  beginning  to  come  into  the  river  and  they 
are  principally  distinguished  in  my  mind,  not  be- 
cause they  are  queer-looking  structures,  but  because 
they  meet  with  "Yukon's"  intense  disapproval. 

Yukon  does  not  believe  in  paddle-boats  for  the 
Tigris,  anyhow.  They  draw  too  much  water,  in  the 
first  place,  and,  says  he,  "once  a  paddle-boat  gets 
stuck  in  the  mud  there  she  sticks  until  a  tug  comes 
alone1  and  yanks  her  off!" 

186 


LINES  OF  COMMUNICATION 

He  is  forever  dealing  in  doleful  reminiscence 
about  the  excellence,  as  he  has  tested  it,  of  the 
Yukon  River  traffic  and  the  superior  advantages  of 
the  Mississippi  River  steamboats. 

"Them  Mississippi  boats!"  says  he.  "Gosh! 
They  carry  a  thousand  ton  a  clip,  with  plenty  o' 
space  to  spare,  an'  draw  about  two  foot  o'  water! 
Say!  These  Britishers  don't  know  nothin'  'bout 
rivers,  nohow.  When  they  want  a  model  for  a 
steamboat  why  don't  they  consult  some  one  with 
river  sense?  Look  at  them  new  paddle- wheelers 
now!  Wide  enough  at  the  stern  to  scrape  the  sides 
out  o'  the  Narrers  and  push  everything  else  out  o' 
the  river!  An'  say! — down  at  the  head  four  feet 
at  least,  with  nothin'  in  'em!  We'll  have  a  pile  of 
'em  stacked  up  in  the  mud  along  above  Qurnah 
one  o'  these  days,  an'  we'll  have  to  use  dynamite  to 
get  'em  out  o'  the  way!" 

But  perhaps  Yukon  should  be  introduced  in  a 
less  casual  way. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

UP  THE  RIVER  TIGRIS 

'T'HEY  had  told  him  that  I  was  an  American 
A  and  that  if  I  could  not  speak  his  language  I 
would  at  least  be  able  to  understand  it — which  was 
more  than  they  could  do.  So  he  was  what  he  called 
"lookin'  forrard  to  meetin'"  me.  They  had  also 
told  me  about  him,  describing  him  as  a  "character," 
and  while  I,  too,  was  "lookin'  forrard"  I  really 
expected  to  encounter  in  him  a  kind  of  British 
imitation  of  what  they  said  he  was — a  woolly 
Westerner.  I  was  all  wrong.  I  found  he  was  the 
genuine  article;  not  so  very  wild,  but  certainly 
woolly. 

"Ye-e-ep,"  he  said,  "been  livin'  in  the  great 
Northwest  since  I  was  knee-high.  An'  say,  if  this 
ol'  war  ever  lets  up  an'  I  live  to  get  back!  Well, 
they  won't  have  to  tie  me  to  no  post!  I'll  stan' 
without  hitchin',  all  right,  all  right! 

"Ever  been  to  Vancouver?"  he  suddenly  ex- 
claimed. 

I  smiled  and  nodded. 

"You  have!  Well,  now,  then  I  ask  you!  Ain't 
that  one  o'  the  grandest  towns  on  earth?  Say,  I've 
got  six  corner  lots  in  that  town  an'  I  wouldn't 
take  less  'n  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  for  'em! 


UP  THE  RIVER  TIGRIS 

They  only  cost  me  a  hundred  dollars  apiece,  but  I 
got  in  on  the  ground  floor.  These  British  army 
officers  don't  know  nothin'.  I  been  tellin'  'em 
about  that  country  out  there  till  I'm  black  in  the 
face.  But  they  think  I'm  prejudiced.  They  won't 
pay  no  attention  to  me.  Now  you  tell  'em!" 

I  doubt  if  many  persons  ever  heard  his  real  name. 
He  is  known  as  "Yukon"  from  one  end  of  Meso- 
potamia to  the  other,  because,  once  having  run  a 
steamboat  on  the  Yukon  River,  he  is  given  to  com- 
paring that  stream  with  the  River  Tigris  on  every 
possible  occasion,  and  invariably  to  the  great  dis- 
advantage of  the  Tigris.  Moreover,  he  has  a 
Yukonese  cast  of  ruddy  countenance,  a  Yukonese 
muscularity  and  freedom  of  movement  and  manner, 
and  a  Yukonese  picturesqueness  of  diction  and  ex- 
pletive that  would  make  him  a  marked  man 
anywhere. 

I  am  afraid  that  as  a  kindred  spirit  I  disappointed 
him  from  the  outset.  I  could  most  enthusiastically 
back  his  opinion  of  His  British  Majesty's  great 
Northwest,  but  my  language  has  been  thinned  and 
clarified  by  a  too  long  association  with  the  less 
fortunate  inhabitants  of  the  effete  American  East, 
and  I  could  see  that  he  began  at  once  to  regard  me 
as  most  unrepresentative  of  the  country  he  calls 
"God's  own."  And  when  he  says  "God's  own" 
he  means  "the  good  old  U.  S.  A."  for  which  he  has 
an  ardent  affection. 

I  did  not  meet  him  until  he  came  to  the  mess  one 
evening  to  tell  us  that  the  S-l  was  all  right  as  to 
engine  repairs  and  coal  and  would  be  ready  to 
get  away  up-river  next  morning  at  any  hour  the 
General  might  wish  to  start.  But  after  that  I  saw 

189 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

him,  as  he  would  say,  "some  frequent  an'  con- 
siderable." 

The  S-l — otherwise  Stern-wheeler  Number  One — 
is  the  boat  on  which  the  Inspector-General  of 
Communications  travels  up  and  down  the  Tigris; 
and  Yukon  is  her  captain.  She  began  life  as  an 
open-decked  passenger-craft  on  a  far-away  river 
somewhere,  but  since  she  made  her  own  courageous 
way  into  the  Tigris  fleet  she  has  undergone  a  num- 
ber of  disfiguring  but  amplifying  improvements  and 
has  had  a  most  thrilling  career. 

We  were  to  leave  Basra  at  eight  in  the  morning, 
the  General  having  telegraphed  ahead  for  a  con- 
ference with  his  officers  at  Qurnah  at  half  past 
eleven.  I  was  aboard  betimes,  followed  by  Ezekiel 
— that  servant  of  mine — who  managed,  with  char- 
acteristic nonchalance  and  the  assistance  of  about 
six  coolies,  to  stow  my  kit — bed  and  bedding,  camp 
table,  chair,  boxes,  and  bags — in  passageways  and 
deck  spaces  where  it  would  do  the  most  good  as  an 
obstruction  and  a  nuisance. 

Among  Ezekiel's  other  objectionable  habits,  he 
wears  European  clothes  instead  of  the  graceful 
draperies  of  the  usual  Indian,  and  he  came  aboard 
the  S-l  arrayed  in  a  suit  of  black-and-white-checked 
flannel  which  caused  a  commotion  even  among  the 
animals  on  the  lower  deck.  The  General's  and  the 
Major's  riding-horses  pawed  their  stalls  and  nick- 
ered inquiringly,  while  the  plaintive  bleats  of  two 
pet  Persian  lambs  were  as  a  kind  of  'cello  obbligato 
to  the  cackling  and  squawking  of  the  fowls  in  their 
coops.  Yukon  remarked: 

"Well,  I  won't  have  to  use  no  horn  or  whistle 
this  trip!" 

190 


UP  THE  RIVER  TIGRIS 

It  was  the  intention  of  my  host  and  his  staff  that 
I  should  realize  none  of  my  expectations  with  regard 
to  hardships  and  discomfort.  I  had  come  aboard 
prepared  to  furnish  a  bare  little  cabin  with  my  own 
kit  and  to  make  the  best  of  next  to  nothing.  I  knew 
that  was  what  the  Major  and  the  A.  D.  C.  would 
have  to  do,  because  in  Mesopot  officers  get  along 
with  a  minimum  of  personal  impedimenta  and  they 
make  that  minimum  serve  on  all  occasions.  Each 
has  his  own  camp  bed,  his  own  blankets  and  linen 
and  everything  strictly  necessary,  and  wherever 
he  goes  he  takes  his  kit  along  and  makes  ar- 
rangements for  his  own  comfort,  or  lives  in  dis- 
comfort for  which  he  has  nobody  but  himself  to 
blame. 

Nothing  like  that  for  their  "lady  visitor."  They 
had  a  surprise  in  store  for  me  and  they  proudly 
ushered  me  into  a  cabin  which  put  me  in  a  class  by 
myself.  It  was  amusing  and  wonderful!  Persian 
rugs  and  rose-bordered  yellow  draperies  were  the 
chief  items  of  decoration — goodness  knows  where 
they  got  them! — and  against  one  wall  there  was  a 
writing-table  on  which  they  had  placed  a  large 
square  of  spotless  blotting-paper  and  a  green- 
shaded  reading-lamp.  \Yhat  more  could  any  one 
wish  for  on  the  River  Tigris?  My  camp  bed  was 
covered  with  a  gay  traveling-rug  and  an  electric  fan 
was  humming  in  a  corner. 

The  General's  cabin  and  office  is  a  large  room  up 
forward  under  the  bridge,  in  which  he  has  some 
shelves  of  reference-books,  many  maps,  and  a  big, 
busy-looking  desk,  while  the  other  accommodations 
are  a  half-dozen  tiny  rooms  down  either  side  of  the 
deck,  which,  before  the  servants  got  the  camp  beds 

191 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

and  tables  and  things  in  their  places,  were  as  bare 
as  though  they  had  never  been  lived  in. 

The  mess-room  is  amidships  alongside  the  tele- 
graph office  and  the  stenographers'  quarters,  while 
down  at  the  end  of  the  deck,  just  over  the  great, 
churning  wheel,  are  two  well-furnished  bath-rooms 
— "fitted  up,"  said  the  General,  "with  porcelain 
looted  from  an  over-supply  of  hospital  equipment 
at  a  time  when  the  authorities  seemed  to  have  been 
struck  with  a  sudden  idea  that  the  way  to  win  the 
war  was  to  send  bath-tubs  to  Mesopotamia."  For 
a  long  time  Mesopotamia  had  practically  no  bath- 
tubs at  all. 

All  these  living-quarters  constitute  what  I  have 
referred  to  as  disfiguring  but  amplifying  improve- 
ments. They  are  all  built  of  canvas  nailed  to  plain, 
unpainted  uprights  and  cross-timbers,  and  since  the 
curious  old  boat  draws  only  between  three  and  four 
feet  of  water  and  has  a  wide-open  lower  deck,  they 
make  her  look  top-heavy.  But  makeshift  and 
quaint  as  she  is,  she  is  very  comfortable. 

On  the  lower  deck,  besides  the  horses,  the  lambs, 
the  chickens,  and  the  General's  automobile,  we  had 
a  small  host  of  servants,  the  Indian  crew,  and  a 
Punjabi  guard — the  guard  being  necessary  in  case 
of  attack  by  Arabs. 

Yukon  gave  me  the  freedom  of  the  bridge,  which 
is  very  high  and  to  which  I  had  to  climb  by  a 
steep  ladder,  and  I  spent  most  of  my  time  in  a 
comfortable  chair  in  one  corner  of  it,  gazing  in  utter 
enthralment  at  a  vast  panoramic  world  that  was 
new  to  me. 

There  is  no  river  anywhere  on  earth  like  the 
Tigris.  Even  the  Euphrates,  its  sister  stream, 

192 


UP  THE  RIVER  TIGRIS 

which  runs  through  similar  country,  is  wholly 
different. 

The  main  current  of  the  Euphrates  used  to  join 
the  Tigris  at  Qurnah,  but  in  order  to  reclaim  areas 
that  were  rapidly  drying  up  into  a  desert  waste  for 
want  of  irrigation,  a  British  company  completed  in 
1914  a  great  barrage  at  Hindiyeh — north  of  Babylon 
— which  had  the  effect  of  turning  the  principal  stream 
into  a  formerly  thin  and  silted-up  channel  to  the 
southward.  So  the  Euphrates  now  flows  grandly 
into  the  Shatt-el-Arab  about  ten  miles  above  Basra, 
while  the  branch  running  across  to  Qurnah  has 
dwindled  to  very  meager  proportions. 

Between  Basra  and  Qurnah  the  banks  of  the 
Shatt-el-Arab  are  lined  with  date-gardens,  and  in  its 
gentle  placidity  the  broad  river  reflects  everything 
very  deeply.  Its  edges  gleam  silvery  green  with  the 
dust-silvered  green  of  the  palms,  while  here  and 
there  a  tawny  stretch  lies  under  a  shelving  bank  of 
clay,  on  which,  perhaps,  may  stand  a  row  of 
ancient  brick-kilns  which  look  like  castle  ruins  or 
medieval  watch-towers.  It  really  is  very  beautiful. 

We  arrived  at  Qurnah  at  the  appointed  hour,  and 
while  the  General  and  the  Major  went  off  for  their 
conference,  the  A.  D.  C.  and  I  wandered  in  deep 
dust  through  the  lanelike  streets  and  out  into  the 
surrounding  palm-groves  where  the  army  camps  are 
located. 

Qurnah  is  regarded  by  the  men  of  the  Meso- 
potamian  Expeditionary  Force  as  the  least  attrac- 
tive place  in  all  Mesopotamia,  and  that  is  saying 
nothing  whatever  for  the  rest  of  Mesopotamia. 
But  to  be  sent  to  Qurnah  for  service  is  to  be  pun- 
ished for  your  sins.  I  have  referred  to  the  fact 

193 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

that  the  summer  temperature  of  Mesopot  ranges 
between  110°  and  130°.  At  Qurnah,  where  there 
is  more  humidity  than  at  any  other  point  on  the 
river,  this  is  accompanied  by  a  heavy,  saturating 
mugginess  that  is  fairly  prostrating. 

In  the  spring  of  1916,  when  the  force  was  trying 
to  relieve  General  Townshend  at  Kut,  a  poor 
Tommy  who  was  dying  of  heatstroke  called  it  "the 
hill  station  for  hell,"  but  as  the  summer  wore  on 
this  was  improved  upon  by  other  Tommies,  who 
liked  to  refer  to  hell  as  "the  hill  station  for  Qurnah" 
and  to  pretend  that  a  month's  leave  in  hell  would 
do  them  a  world  of  good. 

Yet  hoary  tradition — the  legends  of  the  ages — 
has  made  the  site  of  Qurnah  the  Garden  of  Eden. 
It  answers  so  many  of  the  descriptions  in  Genesis 
that  for  a  long  time  it  was  generally  accepted  as 
the  probable  scene  of  that  event  in  human  history 
known  to  us  as  The  Creation. 

It  has  its  rivals,  but  not  in  the  mind  of  any 
British  soldier  who  has  lived  and  worked  and  fought 
in  Mesopotamia.  All  such  unfortunate  boys  are 
quite  satisfied  that  Qurnah  is  the  Garden  of  Eden, 
and  being  permitted  to  fight  in  the  Garden  of  Eden 
has  been  one  of  their  compensations  for  having  to 
fight  at  all  in  such  an  ungodly  land. 

They  have  given  all  the  principal  streets  in 
Qurnah  new  names,  and  in  order  to  make  them 
more  or  less  permanent — since  troops  come  and  go 
in  such  a  place — they  have  painted  them  on  neat 
signboards  and  have  set  these  up  at  the  corners. 
Many  of  the  streets  run  out  from  a  small  plaza 
which  is  as  blank  and  bare  and  unsightly  as  any- 

194 


UP  THE  RIVER  TIGRIS 

thing  well  could  be,  and  this  they  have  named 
Temptation  Square. 

Then  there  are  Eve's  Walk,  Serpent's  Crescent, 
Adam's  Lane,  Fatal  Bite  Avenue,  Apple  Alley,  and 
a  number  of  others  that  I  am  not  able  to  remember. 
And  even  the  Arabs  in  a  measure  have  adopted 
these  names  and  are  tremendously  pleased  by  any 
reference  to  the  anciently  historic  importance  of 
their  most  un-Eden-like  town. 

Back  aboard  the  S-l,  I  went  up  to  the  high  bridge 
from  which  I  could  see  the  whole  community  and 
all  that  lay  huddled  round  its  edges.  The  army 
camps  and  the  corrals  and  the  remount-depots 
under  the  palm-trees  I  could  not  see,  but  down  the 
river-bank  were  signs  of  war  industry  in  the  form 
of  pyramids  of  grain  and  hay  and  rough  mat-shed 
warehouses  overflowing  with  supplies  waiting  to 
be  transported  up-river,  or  being  reserved  here  for 
possible  emergency.  Gangs  of  laborers  were  at 
work  laying  more  sidings  and  building  freight-sheds 
for  the  new  railway  which  now  connects  Basra 
with  Baghdad — and  therefore  with  the  battle-lines 
beyond. 

The  town  of  Qurnah  is  a  kind  of  baked-mud 
horror,  with  no  architectural  ornamentation  that  I 
could  see  to  relieve  its  flat-roofed  and  almost  win- 
dowless  monotony.  It  has  about  three  thousand 
Arab  inhabitants  and  I  think  a  majority  of  them 
— the  men,  at  least — spend  most  of  their  tune  on 
the  river-front  watching  the  army  shipping  going 
up  and  down.  And  truly  it  is  a  wonderful  sight! 
A  short  way  up  the  Bund  a  number  of  them  were 
sitting,  with  legs  tucked  under  them,  on  high 
benches  in  front  of  a  coffee-house,  sipping  some 

195 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

kind  of  liquid  from  small  glasses,  smoking  their 
water-pipes  and  talking,  no  doubt,  about  the  un- 
supportable  strenuousness  and  orderliness  of  life 
with  Mesopotamia  under  British  control. 

Then  the  Political  Commissioner — the  local 
D.  P.  C. — came  aboard  to  call  on  me  and  to  offer 
me  anything  he  might  have  in  his  possession  in 
the  way  of  information. 

I  invited  him  up  on  the  bridge,  and  the  first 
thing  he  told  me  was  that  we  were  tied  up  in  the 
shade  of  the  Tree  itself.  That  is,  we  would  have 
been  in  its  shade  if  it  had  been  casting  any.  It 
was  high  noon,  the  burning  sun  was  straight  over- 
head, and  the  gnarled  and  knotted  branches  of  the 
Tree  seemed  to  be  dropping  wearily  beneath  it. 
It  was  very  interesting;  though  it  gave  me  a  mo- 
mentary feeling  that  would  be  difficult  to  describe 
to  be  told  that  there  was  the  Tree  of  Knowledge 
of  Good  and  Evil — right  there!  It  didn't  sound 
quite  reasonable. 

"Is  it  a  very  old  tree?"  I  asked. 

"Well — uh — rather!  It's  the  Adam  and  Eve 
tree/* 

"Yes,  but  you  know  what  I  mean." 

"Of  course!  And  as  a  matter  of  fact  it  is  an  old 
tree.  It's  older  than  the  oldest  inhabitant  and  he's 
over  a  hundred.  And  he  says  it  was  old  when  his 
great-grandfather  was  born.  But  you  see  it  doesn't 
claim  to  be  the  original  Tree.  It's  only  a  descendant 
of  the  original  Tree,  though  it  does  stand  on  the 
original  spot." 

"Oh,  does  it?  But  the  Bible  says  'in  the  midst 
of  the  garden,'  and  this  tree  is  on  the  river-bank." 

"Oh,  well,  the  river  may  have  been  miles  away 

196 


UP  THE  RIVER  TIGRIS 

from  here  at  that  time!  In  fact,  you  can't  tell 
even  nowadays  where  the  Tigris  is  going  to  be  from 
one  year's  end  to  another." 

This  was  slandering  the  Tigris,  but  it  has  an 
awful  reputation  for  wandering  round  at  loose  ends, 
so  I  had  nothing  to  offer  in  its  defense. 

"Do  the  Arabs  really  believe  in  this  tree?"  I 
asked. 

"No,  not  unreservedly.  At  least  it  is  not  re- 
garded as  particularly  sacred.  But  there  is  a  tree 
over  there — the  feathery  one  hanging  over  the  dome 
of  the  mosque — that  they  do  believe  in.  In  fact, 
they  are  tremendously  superstitious  about  it.  It 
was  planted  by  Noah." 

All  of  which  may  sound  like  "kidding,"  but  it 
was  not  at  all.  We  were  quite  serious.  We  were 
not  even  smiling.  I  assure  you  that  in  this  ex- 
traordinary country,  where  one  sees  Noahs  and 
Father  Abrahams  in  real  life  on  every  hand,  and 
where  the  days  of  the  Flood  seem  far  less  remote 
than  the  Middle  Ages  of  Europe,  one  makes  and 
accepts  such  statements  quite  matter-of-factly  and 
without  realizing  in  the  least  their  absurdity. 

Incidentally,  nobody  who  has  ever  lived  through 
a  spring  and  early  summer  in  Mesopotamia  doubts 
the  story  of  the  Flood.  It  is  accepted  by  everybody 
with  the  utmost  simplicity  of  belief,  except  that  it 
is  understood  that  the  world  the  Lord  destroyed 
was  only  Noah's  world. 

The  rain  does  descend  upon  the  earth  in  sheets 
and  layers  for  forty  days  and  forty  nights — which  is 
not  such  a  long  rainy  season,  after  all.  But  it  is 
not  the  rains  which  cause  the  rivers  to  spread  them- 
selves out  over  the  whole  visible  area;  it  is  the 
14  197 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

melting  of  the  snows  up  in  the  Armenian  hills 
where  the  rivers  rise. 

What  really  happened  was  that  a  couple  of  flood- 
less  seasons  passed  during  which  it  was  abnormally 
cold  up  around  the  Black  Sea,  and  Mr.  Noah,  being 
a  wise  old  patriarch,  said  to  himself: 

"We're  going  to  have  a  ripping-hot  spring  along 
about  next  year  and  the  accumulated  snows  in  the 
mountains  are  going  to  melt  and  the  waters  are  going 
to  pour  down  into  the  Land  of  the  Two  Rivers  in  the 
worst  flood  we've  had  in  centuries.  I  shall  build 
me  an  ark  and  get  ready  for  it." 

Which  he  did.  He  was  at  that  time  about  six 
hundred  years  old,  you  know,  so  his  memory — 
enriched,  too,  by  the  teachings  and  traditions  of 
his  fathers — covered  a  considerable  period. 

Everything  happened  as  he  prognosticated,  and 
it  came  to  pass  that  because  he  could  get  nobody 
else  to  believe  in  preparedness  he  was  the  only 
inhabitant  who  had  a  refuge  ready  and  stocked 
with  enough  provisions  to  tide  him  and  his  family 
over  the  drowning-out  period. 

As  for  Ararat — the  whole  country  is  covered  with 
mounds  which  are  the  ruins  of  ancient  mud  villages 
— or  even  of  great  cities — and  in  the  language  of  the 
people  these  mounds  are  called  "ararats."  There 
never  has  been  any  building  material  except  mud— 
sometimes  baked  into  imperishable  bricks — and 
mud  structures  fall  into  ruin  very  quickly.  There  is 
no  reason  to  believe  that  before  Noah's  time  there 
were  no  such  mounds  in  Mesopotamia.  And  there 
is  no  reason  to  think  that  the  ararat  of  to-day  was 
not  an  ararat  eight  or  ten  thousand  years  ago. 

I  myself  have  picked  out  of  the  walls  of  excavated 

198 


UP  THE  RIVER  TIGRIS 

ruins  bricks  that  had  been  right  where  I  found 
them  for  something  like  five  thousand  years.  And 
still  imbedded  in  the  bitumen  which  held  them  in 
their  places  was  perfectly  good  straw-colored  straw 
which  might  have  been  produced  with  last  year's 
crop  of  oats.  What  are  a  few  thousand  years  more 
or  less — in  Mesopotamia? 

Noah's  Ark  grounded  on  an  ararat  and  he  was 
hung  up  high  and  dry.  He  probably  tried  to  get 
her  off  into  deep  water,  but,  failing  in  this,  was 
compelled  to  stay  where  he  was  until  the  flood  re- 
ceded and  the 'ground  got  into  fit  condition  to  be 
cultivated. 

This  ararat  theory  is  really  the  General's,  but  it 
impresses  me  as  being  so  entirely  reasonable  that  I 
cannot  resist  the  temptation  to  pass  it  on. 

The  men  who  took  part  in  the  first  operations 
north  from  Qurnah,  and  in  the  subsequent  opera- 
tions for  the  relief  of  Kut,  knew  all  about  the  Flood. 
For  them  "the  waters  prevailed  upon  the  earth" 
during  months  on  end,  and  the  flood  was  accom- 
panied by  an  intolerable  heat  against  which  they 
had  no  kind  of  protection;  also  by  a  plague  of 
poisonous  insects. 

It  is  the  consensus  of  opinion  in  Mesopotamia 
that  Noah  exceeded  his  instructions  with  regard  to 
pestiferous  insects,  and  especially  with  regard  to 
sand-flies  and  certain  breeds  of  mosquitoes.  There 
is  one  variety  of  mosquito  that  is  extraordinarily 
numerous  and  particularly  detested.  It  has  little 
striped  legs  and  is  a  very  pretty  insect,  but  it  is 
absolutely  without  sporting  instinct — the  meanest 
thing  alive.  It  has  no  buzz;  it  utters  no  warning 
sound  of  any  kind;  and  it  seems  even  to  be  at  pains 

199 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

not  to  tickle  the  spot  on  which  it  lights.  Like 
thistle-down  it  floats  in  the  air  and  like  thistle-down 
it  settles  on  any  exposed  point  of  human  skin  and 
proceeds  to  attend  to  its  immediate  business  with  a 
vigor  and  viciousness  that  nothing  else  could  equal. 
And  it  leaves  a  frightfully  inflamed  mark  which 
frequently  develops  into  a  shocking  sore  that  takes 
weeks  to  lieal  and  is  likely  to  disfigure  one  for  life. 
Since  more  often  than  not  it  finds  the  face  of  its 
victim  the  most  easily  get-atable  foraging-area,  it  is 
a  creature  to  be  feared. 

But  we  must  get  on  up  the  Tigris.  Above 
Qurnah  the  palm-gardens  along  the  river-banks 
leave  off  and  the  limitless,  mirage-filled  desert  be- 
gins; then  for  a  week  one  sees  only  limitless,  mirage- 
filled  desert.  To  be  sure,  there  are  occasional 
river-bank  oases,  and  there  are  mud-  and  reed-hut 
villages,  towns,  tombs,  and  mosques,  Bedouin 
encampments,  herds  and  hosts,  army  bases  and 
marching-posts,  and  the  endless  moving  picture  of 
busy  war  life  on  the  river.  Also  there  are  flaming 
dawns  and  thrilling  sunsets. 

One  day  I  was  reading  a  book  which  a  certain 
Anglican  bishop  wrote  about  his  connection  with 
the  operations  in  Mesopotamia,  and  I  noticed  that 
he  liked  too  well  a  phrase  that  he  was  constantly 
making  use  of  in  quotation  marks.  Men  marched 
off  "into  the  blue";  he  gazed  "into  the  blue"; 
he  sent  messages  which  might  or  might  not  be  de- 
livered "into  the  blue."  And  there  isn't  any  blue 
in  the  country.  At  least,  not  enough  to  make  one 
think  blue. 

There  is  a  steely  kind  of  sky  overhead  most  of 

200 


UP  THE  RIVER  TIGRIS 

the  time,  and  the  distances  into  which  men  march 
and  into  which  one  gazes  are  mauve  and  amber, 
dove  gray  and  olive  green,  with  slashes  and  banks 
of  burning  orange  on  the  horizon  at  sunset — the 
effect,  they  say,  of  dust  in  the  air. 

And  the  Tigris,  lying  higher  in  most  places  than 
the  country  on  either  side  of  it,  is  a  still  stream  into 
which  the  colors  melt  in  a  curious,  indescribable 
way.  But  when  I  speak  of  the  desert  as  what  one 
mostly  sees  I  am  thinking  of  the  lure  of  wide-flung 
space  and  of  how  inevitably  one's  eyes  lift  and  seek, 
above  and  beyond  the  immediateness  of  things, 
the  far  horizons.  That  is  Mesopotamia. 

I  thought,  as  we  went  along,  what  a  silent,  lone- 
some river  it  must  have  been  in  peace-times;  how 
sleepy  the  villages;  how  noiseless  the  towns;  how 
somnolent  the  Arab  encampments  in  the  patches  of 
camel-thorn. 

Throughout  the  river's  length  one  sees  at  irregular 
intervals  ancient  water-drawing  stations.  They  call 
them  wells,  but  they  are  only  cuts  in  the  banks 
over  which  a  framework  is  built  to  carry  goatskin 
buckets  that  are  raised  and  lowered  on  a  windlass. 
Attached  to  one  end  of  the  rope  is  usually  a  bullock 
or  a  donkey,  and  as  he  ambles  down  the  slope  of 
the  embankment  and  the  dripping  brown  water- 
bags  rise  drearily  from  the  river,  the  windlass 
creaks  with  a  slow,  mournful,  drowsing  sound  that 
is  like  no  other  sound  I  ever  heard.  That  and  the 
far-away  lost-soul  shrieks  of  many  jackals  are  the 
only  sounds  one  hears  in  the  orange-mellow 
twilights. 

How  dark  it  must  have  been,  too,  yet  how  perfect 

the  moon  and  the  starshine;  and  how  undisturbed 

201 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

the  river's  current  when  it  was  cut  by  the  prow  of 
no  swifter-moving  thing  than  a  mahayla  or  a  dhow 
or  a  slender  belum  gliding  along  under  the  clean, 
quiet  paddle-strokes  of  Arab  boatmen. 

About  thirty  miles  up-river  from  Qurnah  we  come 
to  Ezra's  tomb.  It  is  an  ancient  and  curious  monu- 
ment, and  from  my  standpoint  it  was  a  very  desir- 
able thing  that  we  should  get  to  it  before  nightfall, 
but  we  had  lingered  too  long  and  the  sun  was 
rapidly  sinking  in  a  flood  of  its  own  wonderful  light 
before  we  saw,  across  a  dozen  all  but  circular  curves, 
the  grove  of  palms  on  the  river-bank  in  which  it 
nestles.  It  would  be  all  but  dark  before  we  could 
wind  our  slow  way  up  to  it,  though  as  the  crow 
flies  we  could  have  reached  it  in  twenty  minutes. 

However,  Ezra's  tomb  with  deep  evening  shadows 
of  palm-trees  lying  in  its  darkening  courtyard  and 
its  perfect  blue-enameled  dome  lifted  up  in  the  last 
light  of  day,  offers  more  to  one's  imagination  than 
such  an  impossible  thing  as  an  Ezra's  tomb  might, 
perhaps,  in  the  glare  of  a  midday  sun. 

It  was  beside  these  waters  that  the  children  of 
the  Babylonian  captivity  "sat  down  and  wept." 
And  when  "the  Lord  stirred  up  the  spirit  of  Cyrus 
King  of  Persia"  to  "build  him  an  house  at  Jeru- 
salem," it  was  up  and  down  these  waters  and  the 
waters  of  the  Euphrates,  and  across  the  then  fertile 
plains  now  desert  wastes,  that  the  king's  emissaries 
came  and  went,  gathering  together  treasure  for  the 
Jews  and  seeking  "the  vessels  of  the  house  of  the 
Lord  which  Nebuchadnezzar  had  brought  forth 
out  of  Jerusalem." 

"And  after  these  things,  in  the  reign  of  Arta- 
xerxes,  King  of  Persia,  Ezra  went  up  from  Babylon." 

202 


UP  THE  RIVER  TIGRIS 

"I  make  a  decree,"  said  the  king,  "that  all  they 
of  the  people  of  Israel,  and  of  his  priests  and 
Levites,  in  my  realm,  which  are  minded  of  their 
own  free  will  to  go  up  to  Jerusalem,  go  with  thee." 

In  addition  to  which  more  gold  and  silver  and 
more  precious  things  were  poured  into  the  hands 
of  the  departing  children  of  Israel,  and  favors  were 
heaped  upon  Ezra  until  he  was  moved  to  exclaim: 
"Blessed  be  the  Lord  God  of  our  fathers,  which 
hath  put  such  a  thing  as  this  in  the  king's  heart. 
.  .  .  And  hath  extended  mercy  unto  me  before  the 
king  and  his  counsellors,  and  before  all  the  king's 
mighty  princes." 

One  wants  to  ask,  "And  is  he  really  buried 
here?" 

But  it  is  a  foolish  question.  The  beautiful 
mosquelike  tomb  which  bears  his  name  is  one  of  the 
oldest  monuments  on  earth;  not  in  its  present  form, 
perhaps,  because  it  has  been  built  and  rebuilt, 
modeled  and  remodeled,  and  has  at  present  a  de- 
cidedly Mohammedan  aspect.  But  even  in  its 
present  form  it  is  very  old,  and  its  perfect  state  of 
preservation  is  probably  due  to  the  fact  that,  while 
it  is  a  shrine  to  which  the  Jews  of  the  ages  have 
made  pilgrimage,  it  is  venerated  no  less  by  peoples 
of  all  other  faiths. 

When  the  British  were  pursuing  the  Turks  up 
the  river,  it  was  by  mutual  but  unexpressed  under- 
standing that  a  wide  detour  was  made  by  both 
armies  in  order  to  avoid  the  possibility  of  damaging 
the  sacred  structure.  There  has  been  some  skir- 
mishing in  its  immediate  vicinity,  but  thanks  to  the 
precaution  of  the  contending  forces,  there  is  only 
one  little  bullet-snick  in  the  blue  enamel  of  its 

203 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

dome  to  prove  that  it  has  witnessed  some  of  the 
action  in  the  greatest  of  all  wars. 

Nowadays  it  is  carefully  guarded  by  British 
soldiers  who  live  in  a  small  stockade  at  the  edge  of 
the  palm-grove.  They  were  drawn  up  within  their 
sand-bagged  and  wire-entanglemented  shelter  to 
salute  the  Inspector-General  as  we  passed  on  up  the 
river. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

ON     UP    THE    TIGRIS 

r"PHE  Tigris  is  a  mighty  river  mightily  needed — 
•I  a  river  essential  to  the  successful  prosecution 
of  the  war,  yet  a  river  devoid  of  almost  every  ad- 
mirable attribute.  It  apparently  conforms  to  no 
law  of  nature;  it  is  a  profligate,  abandoned  and  de- 
praved; a  winder  and  a  wanderer  in  devious  ways; 
a  waster  and  a  slacker. 

One  gets  personal  with  regard  to  the  Tigris. 
It  cannot  be  helped.  Even  the  matter-of-fact 
British  engineers,  steamboat  captains,  and  pilots 
who  have  to  deal  with  its  idiosyncrasies  maintain 
toward  it  a  curiously  un-matter-of-f act  and  personal 
attitude.  It  is  as  though  they  thought  of  it  as 
possessing  a  kind  of  human  intelligence  along  with 
a  disposition  to  go  wrong  on  the  slightest  provoca- 
tion. Wherefore  a  tacit  understanding  that  it  is 
not  to  be  provoked.  Any  briefest  interruption  of 
its  career  of  present  usefulness  would  be  an  un- 
imaginable calamity,  so  they  take  no  chances  by 
assuming  toward  it  a  too  great  degree  of  authority. 

They  coax  and  cajole  it;  they  go  to  the  greatest 
pains  to  humor  its  innumerable  moods;  and  it  is 
only  with  the  utmost  precaution  that  they  under- 
take any  measure  of  interference  with  its  way ward- 

205 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

ness,  or,  as  they  would  rather  say,  its  "general 
cussedness." 

It  is  the  most  extraordinary  river  on  earth.  Of 
course  it  is  very  old  in  the  service  of  mankind  and 
its  habits  have  been  fastened  upon  through  ages  of 
human  neglect  and  abuse,  so  one  really  loves  it 
rather  and  feels  inclined  to  apologize  for  it.  But 
the  problem  of  its  reformation  is  yet  to  be  solved 
in  the  minds  of  the  engineers. 

It  is  navigable  for  steam-craft  a  full  four  hundred 
and  fifty  miles — or  from  a  point  a  short  distance 
above  Baghdad  to  its  junction  with  the  Shatt-el- 
Arab  at  Qurnah — yet  its  narrowest  and  at  the  same 
time  its  shallowest  stretch  is  within  thirty  miles 
of  its  mouth.  This  is  against  all  natural  law;  but, 
as  I  say,  it  conforms  to  no  natural  law,  and  in  The 
Narrows  is  written  the  full  story  of  it;  in  The 
Narrows  is  revealed  the  true  character  of  the  unique 
and  anciently  historic  stream  in  all  its  abandoned 
abnormality. 

The  explanation  lies  in  the  fact  that  in  its  navi- 
gable length  it  has  but  one  tributary,  the  Diyala, 
which  joins  it  about  nineteen  miles  below  Baghdad; 
while  it  has  innumerable  ^tributaries — streams 
large  and  small  which  flow  out  of  it,  emptying  it  of 
its  waters  without  let  or  hindrance,  with  an  utter 
disregard  of  the  consequences  to  its  navigability, 
and,  since  they  are  uncontrolled,  to  no  purpose  but 
to  create  great  swamps  in  the  desert.  These 
swamps  have  been  a  fearful  menace  always  to  the 
armies  in  operation,  and  have  habits  of  undepend- 
ableness  and  instability  no  less  extraordinary  than 
the  habits  of  the  river  that  creates  them. 

The  principal  distributary  is   the  Shatt-el-Hai, 

206 


ON  UP  THE  TIGRIS 

supposed  to  be  the  ancient  Tigris  itself,  which 
flows  out  just  below  Kut-el-Amara  and,  stretching 
across  the  great  interland  between  the  two  rivers, 
joins  the  Euphrates  at  Nasriyeh,  an  important  point 
which  was  occupied  by  the  British  Army  of  the 
Euphrates  in  the  summer  of  1915,  when  General 
Townshend  was  advancing  up  the  Tigris  to  Kut- 
el-Amara.  Most  of  the  distributaries  are  man- 
made;  water-cuts  and  canals  that  were  at  one  time 
a  part  of  a  great  system  of  irrigation;  but  the 
Shatt-el-Hai  evidently  is  not,  and  it  is  thought  also 
that  the  Tigris  cut  for  itself  the  worst  water  thief 
of  them  all,  the  Jahalah,  which  branches  off  di- 
rectly above  Amara  and,  with  a  bed  six  feet  below 
the  bed  of  the  Tigris,  carries  a  tremendous  volume 
of  water  out  across  the  desert  to  the  eastward  and 
deposits  it  hi  a  spreading,  bubbling,  fever-breeding 
marsh. 

After  which  the  river,  being  tapped  at  intervals 
all  the  way  down,  begins  to  decrease  in  volume  until 
it  runs  spindling  into  The  Narrows;  a  once  splendid 
stream  reduced  to  less  than  two  hundred  feet  in 
width  and  with  a  depth  at  its  normal  best  of  not 
more  than  six  feet.  Below  The  Narrows  it  begins 
to  "come  home  from  the  marshes"  in  many  small 
trickling  creeks  and  hi  a  curious  seepage  which 
makes  miles  upon  miles  of  the  country  along  the 
east  bank  exceedingly  dangerous  if  not  quite  im- 
passable except  in  the  driest  of  seasons. 

In  addition  to  all  of  which  the  bottom  of  the 
river  is  formed  of  shifting  sands  that  are  played 
upon  and  tumbled  about  by  the  current,  with  the 
result  that  no  steamboat's  prow  is  ever  sure  of  an 
unobstructed  course.  Yet  for  nearly  three  years 

207 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

the  main  division  of  the  Mesopotamian  Expedi- 
tionary Force  had  to  depend  exclusively  on  the 
River  Tigris  for  communications  and  supplies. 

There  is  a  railroad  now  all  the  way  from  Baghdad 
to  Basra,  and  the  attitude  of  strained  anxiety  and 
respectful  cajolery  on  the  part  of  the  engineers  and 
pilots  could  be  relaxed  if  it  had  not  become  a  habit. 
But  it  is  a  habit,  and,  besides,  the  river  is  still  of 
sufficient  importance  to  occupy  first  place  in  the 
general  scheme  of  things. 

At  Amara,  where  the  Jahalah  rolls  out  in  such  a 
recklessly  destructive  volume,  it  was  decided  that 
some  kind  of  gently  suggestive  obstacle  across  the 
distributary  channel  would  be  necessary  if  the  river 
below  was  to  be  kept  continuously  navigable  for 
the  kind  of  boats  the  supply  and  transport  service 
had  to  use.  So  the  river  engineers  sank  an  old 
steamboat  in  such  a  position  that  it  would  serve 
to  deflect  the  current  by  the  merest  fraction.  That 
was  as  much  as  they  dared  to  do.  It  added  some- 
thing to  the  volume  of  the  Tigris  without  disturb- 
ing its  usual  habit  and  causing  it  to  seek  an  outlet 
somewhere  else,  as  it  invariably  threatens  to  do  if 
it  is  even  harshly  spoken  to. 

Then  a  river  patrol  was  established  and  intrusted 
with  the  task  of  keeping  up  with  the  changes  in  the 
main  channel  and  keeping  that  channel  buoyed  for 
the  benefit  of  traffic,  while  a  small  barrage  here  and 
there  was  constructed  for  the  purpose  of  coaxing 
the  more  active  sand-bars  to  shift  themselves  out 
of  the  way. 

But  perhaps  I  am  managing  to  suggest  that  the 
current  is  swift.  It  is  not.  Baghdad,  five  hundred 
and  sixty-five  miles  by  river  from  the  Persian  Gulf, 

208 


THE   DEVIL  S   ELBOW       ON   THE   TIGRIS 

Note  the  narrow  escape  of  the  native  mahaySa,  as  the  S-l  swings  round  the  sharp  turn 

in  the  river. 


ON  UP  THE  TIGRIS 

is  only  one  hundred  and  twelve  feet  above  sea-level, 
while  Qurnah,  one  hundred  and  twelve  miles  from 
the  gulf,  is  only  ten  and  a  half  feet  above  sea-level. 
So  one  always  thinks  of  the  Tigris  as  a  still  river, 
and  it  is  because  it  is  so  still  that  it  has  such  a 
strangely  tranquilizing  charm. 

In  The  Narrows  practically  everything  afloat  in 
the  Tigris  has  at  one  time  or  another  been  "stuck 
in  the  mud  "  or  jammed  tight  in  between  the  banks 
of  one  of  the  many  sharp  bends.  There  is  one  bend 
known  as  the  Devil's  Elbow,  and  it  did  not  come 
by  its  name  through  anybody's  misconception  of  its 
character.  It  is  an  acute  angle  round  which  only 
the  most  expert  of  pilots  can  get  a  steamboat  with- 
out the  assistance  of  anchors  and  winches,  and  it  is 
every  pilot's  dread. 

When  the  British  were  advancing  up  the  Tigris 
with  more  speed  than  they  were  really  prepared  to 
make,  The  Narrows  witnessed  many  a  scene  that 
was  equivalent  to  two  trains  attempting  to  pass 
each  other  on  the  same  track.  But  eventually  a 
block-signal  control  was  established,  and,  since  the 
business  of  supply  and  transport  goes  on  night  and 
day,  an  electric  power-plant  was  built  and  the 
banks  were  lined  on  either  side  with  high  arc- 
lights. 

These  banks  are  now  as  smooth  as  though  they 
had  been  planed  and  polished — the  result  of  their 
almost  constant  contact  with  the  sides  of  barges 
as  these  are  squeezed  through,  lashed  to  tugs  or 
other  small  steam-craft. 

All  of  this  has  to  do  witn  the  Tigris  at  low  water 
or  at  normal  depth,  and  is  only  half  the  story. 

209 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

Along  in  March  the  snows  up-country  begin  to 
melt  and  the  floods  begin  to  pour  down  the  two 
rivers.  At  Baghdad  the  Tigris  has  a  rise  and  fall 
of  more  than  twenty  feet  and  has  frequently  been 
known  to  rise  as  much  as  three  feet  in  one  night. 

If  some  of  the  river's  astonishing  sinuosities 
could  be  eliminated  by  means  of  dams  and  canals 
its  length  between  Basra  and  Baghdad  could  be 
shortened  by  at  least  two  hundred  miles;  but  when 
I  innocently  asked  one  of  the  engineers  why  this 
should  not  be  done  he  answered  me  with  arched 
eyebrows  and  an  air  that  I  could  not  fail  to  recog- 
nize as  indicating  a  politely  patient  tolerance  of  my 
stupidity. 

During  the  floods  all  trace  of  the  banks  along  the 
middle  reaches  of  the  river — and  down  below  Amara 
as  well — disappears,  and  at  the  beginning  of  things 
it  was  not  at  all  unusual  for  a  steamboat  loaded 
with  troops  or  supplies  to  miss  a  bend  altogether, 
keep  straight  ahead  on  an  overland  course,  and  go 
hard  aground  out  somewhere  in  the  middle  of  a 
plain.  Grounded  on  an  ararat,  all  same  Noah! 

Something  had  to  be  done,  of  course,  to  decrease 
the  possibility  of  such  calamities,  so  eventually 
the  bends  were  all  marked  with  channel-indicators 
— tall  poles  set  at  each  river  angle  toward  which  a 
boat's  prow  should  point.  And  these  poles  are 
usually  topped  with  spreading  basket-like  arrange- 
ments in  which  the  storks  —  the  most  numerous 
birds  in  Mesopotamia — build  their  great,  shaggy 
nests,  thereby  adding  a  touch  of  delightful  pictu- 
resqueness  to  a  merely  utilitarian  contrivance. 

But  I  must  not  go  on  too  long  with  dull  details 
about  a  river  that  is  not  dull  in  any  sense  or  degree. 

210 


ON  UP  THE  TIGRIS 

Yukon  was  wont  to  describe  it  with  appropriate 
expectorative  emphasis  as  "Phh-t — durned  similar 
and  monotonous!'* 

But  I  could  not  agree  with  him.  And  especially 
in  the  late  afternoons  when  the  sun  usually  turns  the 
more  or  less  nothing  by  way  of  landscape  through 
which  it  flows  into  a  knobbed  and  hillocked,  horizon- 
wide  plain  filled  with  points  and  deep  cups  of  in- 
describable light.  I  was  always  on  the  bridge  for 
such  hours  as  these,  and  one  evening  when  I  was 
finding  it  quite  impossible  to  refrain  from  expressing 
my  delight  in  the  scene  that  lay  all  about  us, 
stretching  away  and  away  to  the  ends  of  nowhere, 
Yukon,  standing  behind  the  big  wheel  with  his 
eyes  fixed  on  the  river  ahead,  drawled,  in  reply  to 
my  exclamations: 

"Well,  I  don't  want  to  be  no  kill-joy,  but  if  I 
live  to  get  back  down  to  Basra  it  '11  be  my  fiftieth 
trip,  an*  it  didn't  take  me  more  'n  about  forty-seven 
trips  to  get  over  what  you're  a-sufferin'  from  now." 

To  me  it  was  wonderful  in  the  pearl-gray  and 
mauve-shot  mornings,  too,  and  there  was  always 
temptation  to  be  up  with  the  dawn.  Across  the 
flats  and  along  the  marsh  edges  beyond  there  are 
thousands  of  sand-grouse,  black  partridge,  dif- 
ferent varieties  of  duck  and  other  wild-fowl,  and 
the  General  liked,  whenever  a  relaxation  of  business 
demands  made  it  possible,  to  bank  in  in  the  early 
hours  at  any  casually  selected  spot  and,  with  a 
happy  staff  and  a  pleased  Punjabi  guard  in  attend- 
ance, to  trudge  off  across  country  on  a  shooting 
expedition.  And  though  he  was  always  good- 
naturedly  complaining  that  the  troops  of  the  flying 

211 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

columns  and  others  in  garrison  along  the  river 
were  destroying  the  birds  and  rapidly  bringing 
about  a  situation  that  would  call  for  rigid  game 
laws,  he  never  came  back  aboard  without  a  fairly 
good  bag  with  which  to  supplement  a  none  too 
varied  war  ration. 

On  one  of  these  early  mornings  when  everybody 
was  ashore  and  a  silence  reigned  on  the  old  boat 
that  made  me  positively  nervous,  I  joined  Yukon 
on  the  bridge  and  found  him  leaning  against  the  rail, 
muttering  to  himself  bitter-seeming  complaints. 
We  could  see  the  shooting-party  in  the  distance 
tramping  homeward  across  a  desolate  stretch  of 
dust  and  camel-thorn — all  there  was  by  way  of  a 
feast  of  scenery — and  Yukon  had  already  given 
orders  for  the  engine-room  crew  to  stand  by.  We 
would  be  off  the  instant  the  men  got  aboard. 

Two  high-turbaned  Indian  sentries  stood  on 
either  side  of  the  narrow  gangway,  facing  the 
desert,  and  a  barefoot,  white-clad  Arab  cabin-boy 
was  running  up  and  down  the  clay  bank,  with  a  pet 
Persian  lamb  baaing  foolishly  at  his  heels. 

"What's  the  trouble,  Captain?"  I  asked. 

"Aw,  nothin',"  he  growled,  "only  I  do  wish  the 
General  'd  make  a  plan  an'  stick  to  it.  But  he 
won't,  so  what's  the  use!  Say,  when  it's  a  hurry 
call  from  up-river  you  c'n  bet  it's  a  case  of  push 
straight  through  an'  never  mind  eatin'  or  sleepin* 
or  nothin'.  An'  I  don't  mind  that.  I  don't  mind 
bein*  rushed.  But  when  they  ain't  nothin'  urgent 
I  never  know  where  I'm  at.  It's  a  case  o'  stand 
by  and  wait  for  orders.  An'  like  as  not  the  orders 
when  I  do  get  'em  '11  be  onreasonable.  Now  he's 

asked  me  to  make  Amara  by  eleven  o'clock  this 

212 


ON  UP  THE  TIGRIS 

morning.  Huh!  Swell  chance!"  He  paused  and 
a  gleam  of  humor  began  to  twinkle  in  his  eye. 
Then  he  laughed.  "Suppose  he  thinks  I  won't  be 
able  to  do  it,  now  he's  wasted  an  hour  an'  a  half 
here.  Well,"  he  chuckled,  "y°u  3ust  watch  my 
smoke!"  And  he  beamed  affectionately  upon  the 
returning  sportsmen. 

The  last  act  on  these  occasions  before  the  gang- 
plank was  drawn  in  was  always  the  ceremonious 
relief  of  the  sentries  on  the  bank.  We  might  be 
in  the  exact  and  wholly  uninhabited  geographical 
center  of  nowhere — which  is  what  much  of  the 
country  looks  like  at  times — but  the  Indian  officer 
of  the  guard  never  relaxed  discipline  for  a  single 
instant.  I  thought  to  myself,  why  can't  the  sen- 
tries just  shoulder  their  rifles  and  come  on  aboard? 
Why  all  this  R'm-umph!  Sho-rumph!  Mar-r-umph! 
stuff  under  such  circumstances?  It  interested  me 
and  I  spoke  to  one  of  the  British  officers  about  it. 

"Well,  naturally,"  he  said,  "discipline  is  never 
relaxed.  Besides,  the  guard  is  not  for  ornamental 
purposes,  you  know.  You  can't  tell  by  a  glance 
at  an  empty  desert  how  many  Arabs  might  rise 
up  out  of  it,  and  an  Arab  raid  at  any  moment  is  not 
the  least-to-be-expected  thing  anywhere  along  the 
river." 

We  were  well  under  way  before  the  excitement 
incident  to  the  morning's  sport  subsided;  then  we 
got  through  a  leisurely  breakfast  and  the  day's 
work  began.  The  General  retired  to  his  desk  in  the 
big  room  up  forward  under  the  bridge;  the  Major 
and  the  A.  D.  C.  began,  as  usual,  to  labor  over  code 
messages  at  the  mess-room  table,  while  Richard, 
the  butler,  cleaned  up  and  bossed  the  other  boys 
15  213 


around  in  the  process  of  getting  everything  ship- 
shape. The  sergeant  -  major  —  stenographer  and 
wireless-operator — with  his  glengarry  cap  on  the 
side  of  his  head,  a  pencil  behind  his  ear,  and  a 
sheaf  of  papers  always  in  his  hand,  passed  back  and 
forth  between  his  office  and  the  General's  cabin, 
while  orderlies  stood  about,  waiting  for  orders. 

The  sounds  to  be  heard  were  as  grace  notes  punc- 
tuating a  great  monotone  of  silence.  The  steady 
tranquil  wash  of  the  wheel  astern  was  a  part  of  the 
silence  itself;  but  not  so  the  whinny  and  stamp  of 
the  riding-horses  in  their  stalls  on  the  deck  below, 
and  not  so  the  occasional  plaintive  bleat  of  a  pet 
Persian  lamb  or  the  squawk  of  a  chicken  in  the  coop 
— one  of  several  that  surely  would  have  been 
killed  for  our  dinner  if  the  shooting-party  had  come 
back  empty-handed. 

It  was  nearly  eleven  when  I  suddenly  remembered 
that  I  must  go  up  on  the  bridge  and  make  inquiries 
about  our  prospects.  Yukon  had  intimated  that 
he  would  get  to  Amara  by  eleven  in  spite  of  the 
utter  impossibility  of  such  a  thing,  and  I  was  in- 
terested. I  climbed  the  steep  ladder  up  alongside 
the  funnel,  which  I  had  learned  by  that  time  to 
negotiate  with  considerable  agility,  and  as  I  thrust 
my  head  through  the  trap-door  I  called  out  cheerily : 

"Hello,  Captain!     Going  to  make  it?" 

"Goin'  to  make  what?"  he  growled.  As  though 
he  didn't  know  what  I  meant! 

"Amara  by  eleven,"  I  humored  him. 

He  turned  from  the  wheel  and  regarded  me 
solemnly  for  a  moment,  then  his  face  crinkled  up 
in  a  funny  smile. 

"Amara,"    he   said,   "is    just   round    the    next 

214 


ON  UP  THE  TIGRIS 

bend.  An*  say,  I  bet  the  General  thinks  we're  'bout 
an  hour  an*  a  half  late  and  hasn't  even  looked  out 
of  'is  winda  to  see  where  we're  at.  Not  that  he'd 
know,  even  if  'e  did  look.  The  scenery  along  this 
so-called  river  'ain't  got  many  distinguishin'  features 
an'  I  wouldn't  know  where  I  was  at  myself  half 
the  time  if  it  wasn't  for  the  chart.  Thought  I  was 
bluffin'  'bout  gettin'  to  Amara  by  eleven,  didn't 
you?" 

From  his  air  of  boyish  triumph  one  would  have 
thought  he  had  been  pounding  the  engines  out  of 
the  old  craft  and  making  unprecedented  speed. 
But  six  or  seven  miles  an  hour  was  about  her  limit, 
and  especially  when  the  water  in  the  river  was  low, 
or  what  he  called  "terrible  thin."  Only  the  eve- 
ning before  he  had  remarked: 

"It's  just  so  durn  thin  that  the  paddle  can't  get 
no  holt  at  all!" 

And  I  had  remembered.  He  had  not  been  mak- 
ing up  any  time.  That  was  certain. 

"How'd  you  do  it,  Captain?"  I  asked. 

"Well,  I'll  just  tell  you,"  he  replied,  "but  you 
mustn't  tell  nobody  else.  I  knowed  the  General 
wanted  to  be  at  Amara  by  eleven  an'  I  knowed 
mighty  well  he'd  want  to  go  shootin'  in  that  patch 
o*  camel-thorn  back  yonder,  so  I  just  slipped  a 
couple  o'  hours  up  my  sleeve." 

Which  meant  that  he  had  run  farther  than  he 
ordinarily  would  before  anchoring  for  the  night, 
and  that  he  had  started  with  the  first  streak  of  dawn 
when  everybody  else  was  asleep. 

It  was  on  the  stroke  of  eleven  that  we  pulled  in 
against  the  high  west  bank  opposite  the  town  of 
Amara,  and  the  boys  were  just  throwing  out  the 

215 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

gangway  when  the  General  stepped  out  of  his  cabin, 
all  belted  and  spurred,  drawing  on  his  gloves.  He 
cast  an  appreciative  smile  upon  Yukon  and  said: 

"Good  work,  skipper!  Didn't  think  you  could 
do  it  by  half!" 

And  the  funny  part  of  it  was  that  each  knew  that 
the  other  knew  all  about  the  boyish  little  game  they 
were  playing.  But  they  were  quite  serious  about 
it,  and  Yukon,  who  had  come  down  from  the 
bridge  for  just  that  little  tribute  and  nothing  else, 
turned  redder  under  the  red  of  his  sunburnt  skin 
and  began  to  shout  angry-sounding  orders  to  the 
men  who  were  securing  the  gangway.  I  was  lean- 
ing against  the  rail,  watching  the  performance,  and 
for  further  relief  he  turned  to  me  and  said: 

"Say,  I  might  just  as  well  be  killed  in  this  war, 
'cause  I'm  goin'  to  get  hung,  anyhow!  I'm  goin' 
to  murder  sevenAirbs  infold  blood  'fore  I'm  through 
'th  this  show!" 

I  laughed  in  hearty  appreciation  of  his  laudable 
intention,  and  groaned  a  suitable  comment  as  I 
counted  just  seven  waterside  coolies  awkwardly 
engaged  in  the  single  simple  act  of  attaching  a  rope 
to  a  peg  in  the  ground.  The  peculiarities  of  coolie 
labor  corps  are  far  too  peculiar  and  complex  to  be 
dealt  with  parenthetically,  so  I  shall  resist  the 
temptation  that  assails  me  to  enumerate  them.  If 
withering  sarcasm  and  forceful  expletives  of  ex- 
asperation could  slay,  Yukon  would  have  rounded 
out  his  useful  career  right  then  and  there. 

The  horses  were  led  ashore,  and  the  General  and 
the  Major  swung  into  the  saddles  and  started  off 
on  a  tour  of  inspection  round  the  camps — the  sheds 
and  railway  yards,  the  acres  of  piled  and  pyramided 

216 


*''  \  £ 

^i  »•- 
V 
v 


ON  UP  THE  TIGRIS 

supplies,  the  mule  and  remount  depots,  the  artillery 
and  munitions  areas,  and  a  number  of  great  tented 
and  hutted  and  handsomely  housed  hospitals.  The 
A.  D.  C.  and  I  were  at  liberty  then  to  go  wherever 
we  liked. 

Amara  is  somewhat  of  a  city,  and  it  is  somewhat 
surprising  to  come  upon  it  in  the  midst  of  the  bar- 
renness and  the  aridity  of  the  land  through  which 
the  Tigris  flows  in  its  middle  reaches.  It  came  to 
Abdul-Hamid,  I  believe,  as  a  sort  of  dowry  with 
one  of  his  many  wives,  and  he  conceived  for  it  a 
special  fancy  along  with  an  idea  that  it  might  be 
developed  into  a  valuable  trade  center  and  point 
of  strategical  advantage.  It  is  connected  by  caravan 
routes  with  points  in  Persia  and  is  the  center  of  a 
sanjak,  or  governmental  district.  It  has  fine  bar- 
racks and  was  a  Turkish  military  post  before  the 
war  where  a  battalion  at  least  was  always  quartered. 

The  town  lies  on  the  east  bank  of  the  river  and 
has  a  good  brick-faced  pier  that  is  a  half-mile  long. 

There  used  to  be  a  curious  old  bridge  of  wooden 
boats  across  the  two  hundred  and  fifty  yards  of 
river,  but  this  has  been  replaced  by  a  modern 
structure  of  great  steel  pontoons  which  swings  back 
quite  majestically  to  let  the  river  traffic  through. 
It  is  named  the  MacMunn  Bridge  in  honor  of  mine 
host,  the  man  who  has  developed  the  lines  of  com- 
munication in  Mesopot. 

A  row  of  fine  two-storied  houses  with  projecting 
latticed  windows  forms  the  river-front,  while  a 
single  tall  and  slender  minaret  lifts  itself  above  the 
flat  expanse  of  mud  roofs.  Extending  eastward 
through  the  heart  of  the  city  is  the  most  pretentious 

217 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

bazaar  in  all  Mesopotamia.  This  was  built  by 
Abdul-Hamid,  who  is  supposed  to  have  paid  out  of 
his  own  private  purse  for  its  lofty  and  splendidly 
constructed  brick  vaulting.  All  of  which  is  re- 
markable only  because  in  all  the  land  there  is  no 
other  example  of  Turkish  enterprise  and  right- 
minded  ambition. 

Amara  has  been  in  British  hands  since  it  was  oc- 
cupied by  General  Townshend  on  June  3,  1915, 
and  has  always  been  the  principal  base  between  the 
battle-lines  and  Basra. 

Having  had  its  baptism  of  British  blood,  it  has 
become  regenerate.  Its  cleanness  is  as  the  clean- 
ness of  the  new  pin — this,  perhaps,  being  due  to  the 
fact  that  it  is  one  vast  hospital.  Nearly  all  the  fine 
river-front  buildings  are  hospitals  these  days,  and 
there  are  acres  of  hutted  and  tented  hospitals  lying 
out  around  the  city's  edges.  There  are  between 
fifteen  and  twenty  thousand  beds  in  Amara,  and 
medical  officers  and  nursing  sisters  like  it  better 
than  any  other  place  in  Mesopotamia  because  its 
climate,  for  some  reason,  is  just  a  degree  or  so  less 
intolerable  than  the  same  climate  elsewhere.  And 
what  with  its  railroad  and  repair  shops  and  its  new 
smokestacked  industries  of  various  kinds,  one 
would  be  inclined  to  think  that  its  age-old  somno- 
lence had  departed  from  it  for  all  time. 

And  it  is  a  fact,  surprising  under  the  circum- 
stances, perhaps,  that  few  things  the  British  have 
built  in  Mesopotamia,  few  of  the  improvements  they 
have  made,  have  the  appearance  of  being  for  tem- 
porary use.  Surprising  under  the  circumstances? 
No,  that  is  not  true.  Anything  else  would  be  sur- 

218 


ON  UP  THE  TIGRIS 

prising,  the  British  being  incapable  of  building  any- 
thing flimsily  when  it  can  be  well  built  with  the 
same  expenditure  of  time,  labor,  and  money. 

A  recently  captured  and  impudent  Turkish  of- 
ficer, in  conversation  one  day  with  the  British 
officer  who  had  him  in  charge,  grew  confidentially 
exultant  over  the  developments  that  are  going  on 
in  the  country. 

"You  British,"  he  said,  "are  doing  for  us  in 
Mesopotamia  all  the  things  we  want  to  have  done, 
but  probably  never  would  have  been  able  to  do  for 
ourselves.  At  Basra  you  have  built  hard-surfaced 
highways,  acres  of  warehouses,  and  enough  piers 
and  dry-docks  to  make  it  one  of  the  best  equipped 
minor  ports  in  the  world.  Then  you  have  filled 
in  all  the  lowlands,  stamped  out  malaria,  and  pro- 
vided any  number  of  fine  hospital  buildings  that 
will  make  excellent  barracks  one  day  and  serve 
many  other  useful  purposes. 

"You  have  completed  this  end  of  the  Berlin-to- 
the-Persian-Gulf  Railroad  and  are  even  building 
good  permanent  stations  and  freight  depots  all 
along  the  line,  in  which  you  are  graciously  pleased  to 
conform  to  the  architectural  style  of  the  country. 

"Moreover,  you  have  built  branch  roads  here  and 
there  which  tap  big  areas  of  production,  and  your 
bridges  can  meet  with  nothing  but  our  heartiest 
approval.  Having  to  import  all  the  materials  for 
them  must  have  cost  you  something.  It  was  more 
than  we  could  ever  afford. 

"Then  there  are  your  great  power-plants  and  the 
whole  country  lighted  up  with  electricity — to  say 
nothing  of  telegraph  and  telephone  lines  on  good 
steel  poles  running  in  every  possible  direction. 

219 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

"You  have  mastered  the  intricacies  and  idiosyn- 
crasies of  the  River  Tigris  and  have  filled  it  with 
barges  and  boats  of  the  latest  type  and  pattern; 
and  now  I  am  told  you  intend  to  undertake  a  great 
irrigation  development  for  the  purpose  of  putting 
large  areas  of  desert  under  cultivation! 

"It  is  marvelous!  You  have  done  more  in  two 
years  than  we  have  done  in  all  the  centuries  of  our 
sovereignty  and  more  than  we  probably  ever  would 
have  done.  It's  perfectly  splendid,  really,  and  the 
longer  it  takes  Germany  to  win  the  war  the  better 
off  we  will  be  in  the  end. 

"If  we  had  been  fighting  on  your  side  poor  old 
Mesopotamia  would  probably  have  gone  on  without 
any  improvements  to  speak  of  for  perhaps  another 
century.  I  wouldn't  have  you  driven  out  for  the 
world.  Not  yet.  Give  you  another  year  or  two, 
and  you  will  succeed  in  restoring  all  the  country's 
old-time  progressiveness  and  prosperity.  Then  it 
will  be  worth  something  to  the  Turkish  Empire." 

Queer  kind  of  Turk  he  was.  And  he  said  a  lot 
more  than  this;  but  the  officer  to  whom  he  was  so 
freely  expressing  himself,  and  who  repeated  the 
conversation  to  me,  quoted  him  only  in  a  general 
way.  I  wanted  to  talk  with  him  myself,  because 
the  question  always  in  my  mind  was,  "What  do 
the  people  think  of  it  all?"  The  Arabs,  they  say, 
think  the  British  are  all  quite  mad,  but  the  Turks 
know  better  than  that.  They  know  they  are  merely 
industrious  and  given  to  doing  things  in  a  sub- 
stantial, methodical,  and  honest  way. 

The  A.  D.  C.  and  I  swung  round  the  big  circle  of 
war  interest  in  and  on  the  outskirts  of  Amara  and 
drew  up  finally  at  the  entrance  to  the  bazaar.  The 

220 


ON  UP  THE  TIGRIS 

terrific  glare  of  the  midday  sun  had  half -blinded 
me,  so  that  walking  into  the  dim  arcade  was  at  first 
like  Walking  into  utter  darkness;  and  in  the  shad- 
owy depths  of  the  bazaar,  where  the  sun  never 
shines,  the  air  was  penetratingly  chill.  It  is  only 
in  the  furious,  unendurable  heat  of  midsummer 
that  the  invading  white  tribe — natural  sun-lovers 
— is  able  fully  to  understand  why  the  Arabs  and 
their  kind  choose  to  live  like  moles. 

In  winter  they  sit  in  their  tiny  open  cubicles  in 
the  bazaars,  wrapped  in  coats  and  furs  and  looking 
anything  but  comfortable.  In  this  particular 
bazaar  Abdul-Hamid's  vaulting  is  very  high,  like 
the  vaulting  of  a  vast  cathedral  aisle,  while  in  the 
commonplace  little  booths  which  line  it  on  either 
side  one  observes  a  neatness  which  is  evidence 
enough  that  the  Arab  and  the  Persian  can  be 
orderly  if  they  are  compelled  to  be. 

Toweling  and  trinkets;  calicoes  and  cloths;  boots 
and  shoes  of  supposedly  Occidental  style,  and 
festoons  of  colorful  native  footgear;  Persian  lamb- 
skins and  lambskin  garments;  hats  and  helmets, 
woolly  caps  and  the  tasseled  tarboush;  cheap  hand- 
kerchiefs and  mufflers;  Kashmir  shawls  and  bright 
silken  things;  all  these  to  begin  with.  Then  comes 
the  vegetable  section  where  piles  of  green  things, 
plentifully  sprinkled  to  keep  them  fresh,  fill  the  air 
with  musty  earth  odors.  After  which  the  meats. 
The  British  have  had  the  meat  section  screened, 
and  under  their  constant  supervision  it  is  kept 
spotlessly  clean.  And  the  Arab  butchers,  too,  are 
clean,  while  they  handle  the  meats  with  an  un- 
natural nicety  that  must  be  a  source  of  endless 

wonder  to  the  native  consumers. 

221 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

In  narrow  passages  running  off  at  right  angles 
from  the  main  street  are  the  familiar  little  filthy 
dens,  five  feet  by  six,  perhaps,  or  even  smaller, 
blackened  by  the  soot  of  tiny  forges  and  littered 
with  nondescript  rubbish,  where  the  artists  and 
artisans  sit  on  their  heels  and  ply  their  various 
handicrafts. 

And  not  so  various,  either.  There  are  just  three 
conspicuous  occupations.  One  of  them  is  twisting 
and  ornamenting  with  silver  or  silken  threads  the 
curious  ropes  of  goats'  wool  or  camels'  hair  called 
agal,  that  are  used  to  bind  the  kuffiyeh  round  the 
shaggy  and  shapely  heads  of  Arabs.  The  second  is 
hammering  out  the  tin  and  copper  utensils  of  every- 
day use  in  Arab  households.  There  are  circular 
deep  pans  and  deeper  pots  and  many  small  things, 
but  chiefly  there  are  the  long-necked,  single-handled 
water-jars  which  the  women — walking  majestically, 
with  graceful  and  evenly  measured  stride — carry 
on  their  shapely  shoulders  down  to  the  wells  at  the 
river's  brink.  These  articles  are  common  in  Meso- 
potamia and  probably  have  been  for  a  millennium 
or  so,  but  to  see  them  made  is  to  list  them  in  one's 
mind  among  things  akin  to  works  of  art;  and  many 
a  British  soldier  boy  has  carried  home  with  him  an 
old  water-jar  to  be  proudly  placed,  when  he  gets 
it  there,  among  the  ornaments  on  the  mantelpiece. 

The  third  industry  belongs  exclusively  to  the  town 
of  Amara.  It  is  the  production  by  a  few  individuals 
of  articles  of  silver  inlaid  with  a  black  enamel  of 
some  kind.  It  is  said  that  the  secret  of  the  art 
has  been  handed  down  to  the  tribe  to  which  it  be- 
longs from  the  days  of  the  Babylonian  Empire,  and 
by  way  of  proof  it  is  pointed  out  that  the  articles 

222 


ON  UP  THE  TIGRIS 

produced  are  almost  identical  in  workmanship  with 
articles  discovered  in  the  excavation  of  some  of  the 
ancient  ruins — notably  Babylon.  I  was  told  that  I 
really  must  get  a  piece  of  Amara  silver  as  the  only 
unique  thing  in  the  way  of  a  souvenir  to  be  found 
in  the  country,  and  I  said  to  myself,  "Well,  I'll 
just  do  that." 

But  I  didn't.  I  found  the  workers  at  their  little 
black  forges  turning  out  nothing  but  cuff-links  and 
napkin-rings  of  the  most  commonplace  pattern. 
Also  an  occasional  bad  cigarette-case  or  a  wabbly 
stemmed  egg-cup.  They  were  catering  to  the 
British  Tommy  and  they  were  doing  it  with  all 
their  dishonest  might.  They  were  bent  not  on 
delicate  artistic  endeavor  or  on  keeping  up  their 
Babylonish  reputation,  but  solely  on  robbing  the 
financially  reckless  white  stranger  of  every  penny 
they  could  get  out  of  him.  And  at  that  they  can 
get  all  he  has  without  half  trying. 

Tommy  is  not  a  hoarder  of  the  fabulous  stipend 
his  country  bestows  upon  him,  nor  yet  of  other 
sums  he  acquires  from  other  sources.  But  often 
enough  he  is  a  model  of  thrift  in  comparison  with 
his  superiors.  For  a  man  who  knows  nothing  about 
the  value  of  a  shilling,  and  cares  less,  commend  me 
the  average  bachelor  British  army  officer,  and 
especially  those  of  the  old  regular  army.  When 
he  is  on  active  service  the  officer  has  very  little 
opportunity  to  spend  money  after  his  small  mess 
bills  are  disposed  of,  so  his  pay  accumulates.  And 
first  thing  you  know  he  is  out  looking  for  some  one 
who  will  consent  to  relieve  him  of  it.  If  he  is  on 
a  two  days'  leave  in  London  he  is  likely  to  engage 
the  most  expensive  suite  in  the  finest  hotel  in  town, 

223 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

treat  himself  to  all  the  millionaire  luxuries  he  can 
think  of,  and  buy  himself  fancy  raiment. 

"And  why  not?"  says  he.  He  may  not  live  to 
enjoy  another  two  days'  leave. 

This  for  the  officer  fighting  in  France,  of  course. 
In  Mesopotamia  there  is  no  such  thing,  alas!  as 
two  days'  leave  in  London.  But  in  Mesopotamia 
there  are  odds  and  ends  of  curious  things  to  buy- 
mostly  Persian — and  a  goodly  store  of  very  mediocre 
Persian  rugs  that  the  collectors  have  passed  by, 
and  the  native  merchants  know  that,  after  a  little 
cheerful  haggling  for  the  fun  of  it,  the  average 
British  officer  will  buy  these  things  and  at  almost 
any  kind  of  fantastic  price.  Why  don't  they  do  as 
the  Germans  do  and  just  take  them,  if  they  want 
them?  Is  it  not  extraordinary  that  men  can  be  so 
naively,  so  naturally  honorable! 

The  Arabs  in  the  Amara  district  are  a  thieving 
lot,  anyhow,  and  are  distinguished  by  a  good  many 
other  low-down  characteristics.  They  are  for  the 
most  part  of  the  notorious  Bani  Lam  tribe  that 
joined  the  Turks  against  the  British  at  the  beginning 
of  the  war  and  deserted  to  the  British  side  as  soon 
as  the  Turks  began  to  lose.  An  Englishman,  in 
consequence,  would  trust  one  of  them  about  as  far 
as  he  could  throw  him.  They  are  cultivators  of 
rice-fields  in  the  marshes  a  part  of  the  time,  but 
generally  they  are  nomads,  living  in  tents  or  reed- 
hut  villages,  and  roaming  the  desert  with  small 
herds  of  camels,  flocks  of  sheep,  and  a  few  horses, 
donkeys,  and  buffaloes. 

Among  the  events  to  be  expected  in  Amara  is  an 
occasional  raid,  the  Arabs  being  lured  by  visions 
of  plunder  in  the  form  of  rifles  and  ammunition  and 

224 


ON  UP  THE  TIGRIS 

other  army  supplies — principally  rifles  and  ammu- 
nition. Apparently  they  have  no  real  wish  to  kill, 
but  cutting  up  an  outpost  or  slaying  a  few  sentries 
may  be  necessarily  incidental  to  their  operations, 
and  of  these  things  they  seem  to  think  very  lightly. 
In  fact,  they  bitterly  resent  the  British  method  of 
retaliation. 

The  British  always  begin  by  demanding  the  sur- 
render of  the  guilty  parties,  this  demand  being 
almost  invariably  met  by  a  declaration  that  there 
are  no  guilty  parties. 

Then  a  flying  column  marches  out  and  adminis- 
ters what  is  humorously  described  as  "a  little 
injustice."  That  is,  they  burn  a  reed-hut  village 
or  two  and  maybe  gather  up  some  plunder  on  their 
own  account  in  the  form  of  flocks  and  herds.  It 
is  a  cheerful  little  game,  but  it  is  very  rapidly  losing 
its  popularity  among  the  Arabs.  They  find  sneak- 
thieving  more  profitable  and  less  dangerous.  And 
at  sneak-thieving  they  are  almost  miraculously 
adept. 

I  know  an  officer  who  had  his  front  teeth  stolen. 
And  a  good  haul  it  was,  too.  Three  of  his  teeth 
had  a  chance  encounter  with  a  bullet  one  bullet- 
raining  day  when  he  was  out  in  the  midst  of  the 
storm,  and  after  he  got  out  of  hospital  with  a  fine 
big  scar  just  under  his  jaw  the  regimental  dentist 
fixed  him  up  with  three  perfectly  good  substitute 
teeth  on  a  handsome  gold  plate.  He  was  on  a 
special  mission  of  some  kind  down  the  river  from 
Baghdad  and  was  traveling  in  a  big  launch.  He 
reached  Amara  late  one  evening,  and,  having  sent 
his  engineer  and  pilot  ashore,  decided  that  he  would 
rig  up  his  own  cot  and  sleep  on  deck. 

225 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

He  undressed  and  crawled  under  the  mosquito 
net,  and  the  last  thing  he  did  was  to  remove  that 
gold  plate  and  place  it  with  the  rest  of  his  duffle 
on  a  chair  beside  his  pillow.  Next  morning  the 
chair  was  empty  and  he  was  minus  everything  he 
owned  except  the  pajamas  he  was  wearing,  the 
launch  having  been  stripped  of  everything,  includ- 
ing kit-bags  and  all  its  rifles  and  ammunition.  The 
Arabs,  with  matchless  stealth,  had  slipped  out  to 
the  launch  in  belums  and  had  got  away  with  the 
job  without  making  a  sound. 

The  officer  was  exceedingly  thankful  that  he  had 
not  waked  up,  because,  being  all  alone,  if  he  had 
made  a  move  of  any  kind  he  very  likely  would  have 
felt  the  swift  slash  of  a  murderous  knife  across  his 
throat.  He  didn't  mind  faring  forth  in  his  pajamas 
to  look  for  something  to  wear,  but  he  says  he  did 
feel  horribly  unclothed  without  his  teeth,  and,  since 
they  don't  keep  such  things  in  assorted  sizes  in  the 
general  stores,  he  had  to  go  without  them  a  long 
time.  He  felt  very  strongly  that  the  thieves  had 
not  a  gentlemanly  instinct  with  which  to  bless 
themselves. 

There  is  always  a  lot  of  shipping  in  the  river  at 
Amara  these  days,  it  being  the  principal  base  of 
supply  between  Basra  and  Baghdad,  and  usually 
there  are  one  or  two  monitors  lying  in  against  the 
bank  and  a  "fly-boat"  or  two  scudding  up  and 
down.  The  "fly-boats" — so  called  because  each 
one  is  named  for  some  kind  of  stinging  insect — 
are  very  tiny  craft  mounting  very  large  guns  and 
seem  to  afford  everybody  a  vast  deal  of  amusement. 
It  is  supposed  that  there  is  nothing  they  can't  or 
won't  do. 

226 


ON  UP  THE  TIGRIS 

I  think  I  must  record  briefly  the  story  of  a  visit 
I  made  to  one  of  the  monitors.  I  had  been  all 
over  her  and  had  expressed  a  requisite  amount  of 
pleased  surprise  at  her  compactness  and  shining 
shipshapeliness,  and  was  talking  with  a  couple  of 
young  gunners  while  I  waited  for  the  Commander, 
who  was  going  with  me  back  to  the  S-l. 

The  time  was  late  in  the  afternoon  of  a  swelter- 
ingly  hot  November  Sunday,  and  I  was  sitting  in  a 
canvas  chair,  leaning  against  the  metal  coolness  of  a 
desert-yellow  gun-turret.  At  my  invitation  the 
gunners  had  seated  themselves — sailor  fashion, 
hugging  their  knees — on  a  strip  of  coir  matting  on 
the  immaculate  deck,  the  deck  being  within  three 
feet  of  the  surface  of  the  river,  which  slipped  by 
rippleless,  reflecting  in  long,  slanting,  oily  streaks 
the  orange-shot  lights  of  a  seemingly  belated  sun 
that  was  hurrying  down  the  western  sky.  The 
only  sounds  were  the  muffled  throb  of  a  quiescent 
engine  somewhere  and  the  squeaks  of  two  pet  mon- 
keys that  were  playing  perilously,  as  it  seemed  to 
me,  along  the  low  deck  rail  forward. 

We  had  been  discussing  the  war  in  a  general 
kind  of  way,  and  had  talked  in  a  particular  way 
about  how  the  monitors  and  "fly-boats"  had 
helped  to  chase  the  Turks  up  the  Tigris  when  Gen- 
eral 'Maude  took  Baghdad.  Their  own  boat  had  a 
few  honorable  battle  scars  of  which  they  were 
gloriously  proud,  and  there  was  a  story  of  how, 
during  a  hot  running  fight,  the  man  at  the  wheel 
was  killed  by  a  bullet  that  happened  to  snick 
through  his  observation  aperture  at  exactly  the 
right  angle  to  strike  him  square  in  the  temple. 

She  was  running  full  speed,  head  on  for  a  curve 

227 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

in  the  bank,  and  was  saved  from  going  smash  by 
the  captain,  who  recognized  at  once  by  the  feel 
of  the  deck  under  his  feet  that  something  was 
wrong,  and  rushed  to  the  wheel. 

After  this  story  there  was  a  thoughtful  pause, 
then: 

"I've  just  been  thinking,"  said  one  of  the  boys, 
"that  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Nebuchadnezzar  and  his 
wickedness  there  wouldn't  have  been  any  war  and 
I'd  be  cruisin'  somewhere  round  old  Blighty  this 
very  minute." 

"Balmy!    Balmy!"  murmured  the  other  one. 

A  pause  for  apparently  deep  cogitation.  I  was 
waiting.  Then : 

"I  say,  swing  round  about  forty-five  degrees  and 
lift  a  bit,  will  you?  What  d  'you  think  you're 
shootin'  at?" 

"I'm  shootin'  at  what  the  padre  said  this  morn- 
ing. Weren't  you  at  the  service?" 

"No,  it  was  my  watch." 

"Well" — he  spoke  very  slowly  and  as  though 
he  were  searching  his  memory — "he  told  about 
how  this  'land  accursed'  was  once  'the  granary 
of  the  world';  how  the  River  Tigris  was  a  more 
generous  mother  than  the  Nile  and  spread  its 
waters  through  the  greatest  system  of  irrigation 
that  was  ever  known;  how  there  was  no  swamps 
and  how  the  thousand  and  one  water-cuts  that 
make  the  going  so  hard  for  our  armies  nowadays 
were  the  canals  that  carried  the  water  to  the  land 
in  controlled  quantities  and  made  the  desert 
'blossom  like  a  rose.'  And  he  said  that  Nebuchad- 
nezzar was  the  first  king  who  began  to  neglect  this 
system  and  that  his  neglect  contributed  to  the  down- 

228 


ON  UP  THE  TIGRIS 

fall  of  Babylon;  that  after  the  downfall  of  Babylon 
things  went  from  bad  to  worse,  with  wars  and 
devastation  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  until  the 
Turks  got  hold  of  the  country  and  abandoned  it 
altogether.  And  now  look  at  it !" 

I  thought  that  whatever  the  plural  of  hiatus 
might  be  there  were  a  good  many  of  it  in  his  sum- 
up,  but  I  said  nothing.  I  wanted  him  to  go  on. 
He  was  a  tall,  lanky  Welshman.  His  companion 
was  a  smaller  youth,  of  rounded  but  firm  contours, 
who  had  a  shock  of  unruly  straw-colored  hair  and 
a  soft  Scotch  bur  in  his  tongue. 

"Interesting  if  true/'  he  replied.  "When  was 
Nebuchadnezzar?"  They  both  appealed  to  me 
with  uplifted  eyebrows. 

"About  six  hundred  B.C.,"  I  hazarded. 

"Twenty-five  hundred  years  ago!"  exclaimed  the 
smaller  one.  "Well,  I  can  get  his  connection  with 
what's  the  matter  with  this  country  right  enough. 
But  did  the  padre  say  he  could  have  prevented  this 
war?" 

"No,  he  didn't.  I  just  figured  that  out  for 
myself." 

"Oh,  you  did!  Well,  of  course  you're  wastin' 
your  tune  on  a  gunboat — but  I'm  afraid  I  don't 
quite  get  you." 

"You  don't  seem  to  know  what  this  war's  about." 

"I  do,  too!  It's  'to  make  the  world  safe  for  de- 
mocracy.' "  And  he  glinted  mischievously  up  at  me. 

"Well,  with  all  due  respect  to  the  great  American 
President,  that  may  be  what  it's  gettin'  to  be,  but 
that  ain't  what  it  was  started  for.  It  was  started 
by  the  Kaiser  so  he  could  grab  Mesopotamia.  And 
if  he  had  grabbed  Mesopotamia  he  could  have  gone 
16  229 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

ahead  and  grabbed  Egypt  and  India  and  the  whole 
bally  world.  We  were  figurin'  it  out  with  a  map 
the  other  day,  and  one  of  the  fellows  had  a  book 
about  the  Baghdad  Railroad.  Best  thing  I  ever 
read  on  the  subject.  U-huh!  It's  easy  enough  to 
see  that  we  fellows  down  here  are  doin'  our  bit 
where  it  needs  doin'. " 

"Yes,  that's  all  right,  but  where  does  Nebuchad- 
nezzar come  in?" 

"Oh,  that?"  He  had  nearly  lost  sight  of  that. 
"That's  just  a  sort  of  fancy  I  got.  You  see,  the 
industrial  and  commercial  possibilities  of  this 
country  are  unlimited.  That's  what  the  padre  said. 
It  don't  look  it,  but  they  can  prove  it  by  tellin' 
you  what  it  used  to  be  like  and  by  sayin'  it's  a  mis- 
take to  call  it  a  desert.  It's  a  vast  alluvial  plain !" 

"Yes?     And  Nebuchadnezzar?" 

"You're  a  man  without  much  intelligence,  but 
I'll  try  to  be  patient  with  you.  Don't  you  see  that 
if  the  country  hadn't  been  neglected,  if  it  had  been 
kept  up  in  what  the  padre  called  'all  its  old-time 
wealth  and  prosperity,'  it  would  be  thickly  in- 
habited now  by  the  kind  of  people  who'd  know  how 
to  hold  it?  If  that  had  been  the  case  the  Kaiser 
wouldn't  *av*  tried  to  grab  it,  India  and  the  rest 
of  the  world  wouldn't  *av*  been  in  danger,  and 
there  wouldn't  'av'  been  any  war.  Now  do  you 
see  where  Nebuchadnezzar  comes  in?"  He  joined 
in  the  laugh  at  his  own  far-fetched  fancifulness, 
then,  as  though  he  were  a  bit  embarrassed,  but 
with  entire  solemnity,  he  said:  "Of  course  I  know 
it  all  goes  back  a  long  way  before  Nebuchadnezzar. 
If  this  river  wasn't  the  kind  of  river  it  is  and  this 
bally  country  the  kind  of  country  it  is,  Cain  prob- 

230 


ON  UP  THE  TIGRIS 

ably  never  would  have  killed  Abel,  and  then  every- 
thing would  have  been  different." 

"That's  an  interesting  idea,"  I  said.  "How  do 
you  make  that  out?" 

"Don't  you  know  how  Cain  happened  to  kill 
Abel?" 

"I  know  only  what  the  Bible  says." 

"Well,"  he  drawled,  "the  Bible's  all  right,  but 
it  doesn't  give  natural  phenomena  its  full  value." 
One  could  tell  he  was  quoting  and  being  somewhat 
uncertain  about  it. 

"It  was  this  way:  Cain  was  a  farmer  and  Abel 
was  a  herdsman.  Don't  we  see  Cains  and  Abels 
by  the  thousands  up  and  down  this  river?  Abel 
was  better  off  than  Cain  and  the  neighbors  all 
talked  about  what  a  fine  chap  he  was  until  he  got 
cocky  about  himself,  and  Cain  got  moody  and 
despondent.  Abel  had  his  cattle  grazing  on  Cain's 
land  down  here  on  the  Tigris  somewhere,  and  the 
time  came  when  Cain  had  to  turn  the  water  on  and 
get  his  land  ready  for  crops. 

"*  Don't  you  turn  any  water  on  that  land,'  Abel 
said. 

"'I've  got  to,'  said  Cam,  'so  please  take  your 
cattl^  away.' 

"'I  will  not!' said  Abel. 

"'Yes,  you  will!'  said  Cain.  Then  they  got  to 
quarreling,  the  way  brothers  do  about  things  like 
that,  and  Cain,  all  wrought  up,  anyhow,  over  not 
having  his  sacrifices  appreciated,  got  violent  and 
hit  Abel  over  the  head.  He  didn't  mean  to  kill 
him,  and  there  wouldn't  'av'  been  much  said  about 
it  if  they  hadn't  happened  to  belong  to  the  leading 
family  round  here  those  days." 

231 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

Just  then  the  Commander  came  up  through  the 
little  round  opening  at  the  head  of  the  companion- 
way  and  the  gunners  sprang  to  their  feet.  They 
controlled  their  merriment  instantly  and  were  as 
solemn  as  owls  when  they  saluted  the  officer.  But 
I  was  still  laughing  as  he  helped  me  down  into  the 
waiting  launch,  and  I  waved  a  laughing  good-by, 
at  which  the  gunners  grinned  and  saluted  as  we 
started  off  up-river. 

"What  were  they  telling  you?"  asked  the 
Commander. 

"Oh,  a  number  of  things.  We  were  discussing 
the  war  and  I  got  some  absolutely  new  ideas." 
And  I  recounted  briefly  the  theory  of  Nebuchad- 
nezzar's responsibility. 

"They  certainly  are  getting  to  be  a  lot  of  unique 
Bible  students,"  he  laughed.  "And  the  men  of  the 
army  are  just  like  them.  The  padres  nearly 
always  hang  their  sermons  on  the  history  of  this 
country  and  they  make  it  all  so  simple  and  familiar 
that  the  boys  get  interested.  They  sit  around  for 
hours  with  a  Bible  and  a  map  and  reference-books 
and  work  out  some  of  the  craziest  explanations  of 
things  you  ever  heard.  Funny  thing  is  they  get  all 
out  of  focus.  They  talk  about  the  Flood  and 
things  that  happened  to  Abraham  and  the  Prophets 
as  though  they  were  the  events  of  year  before  last, 
so,  where  history  is  concerned,  when  they  try  to 
focus  on  anything  close  up  they  get  cross-eyed. 
It  is  most  amusing." 

Amusing,  yes,  but  thoroughly  comprehensible 
from  my  standpoint,  because  in  Mesopotamia  I  got 
that  way  myself. 


CHAPTER  XV 

FROM  AMARA   TO   KUT-EL-AMARA    ' 

ABOVE  Amara  the  great  sand-drifts  in  the  river 
•**•  begin  and  the  navigator  begins  to  prove  his 
qualifications,  while  he  exposes  his  real  character  in 
frequent  threats  to  commit  heinous  crime.  And  it 
was  above  Amara  that  the  boys  began  to  measure 
the  river's  depths  and  to  fill  the  all-pervading 
desert  silence  with  their  weird  cries.  There  were 
two  of  them — one  on  either  side  of  the  bow.  They 
sat  on  the  edge  of  the  railless  deck  with  their  feet 
hanging  over,  and  at  intervals  of  about  one  minute 
plunged  long  plumbing-poles  into  the  water,  then 
lifted  their  young  voices  in  a  curious  musical  chant, 
calling  the  depths.  It  was  a  long  time  before  I 
could  make  out  what  they  were  saying,  but  that 
was  because  I  was  trying  to  catch  what  I  supposed 
were  Arabic  words.  Then  I  suddenly  discovered 
that  they  were  speaking  English. 

"Fow-er-fate-a-a-!"  in  a  high-pitched,  long- 
drawn-out  melody  sounded  so  little  like  "four  feet" 
that  I  wondered  how  the  skipper  could  understand 
them.  But  he  had  no  need  to  understand  the 
words,  since  he  listened  only  to  the  sounds  they 
made,  their  tones  changing  definitely  with  every 
change  in  the  depths. 

233 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

"Fow-er-fate-a-a!"  The  man  on  the  port  bow 
flourished  it  in  a  dozen  mellifluous  tenor  notes, 
while  the  man  to  starboard  answered  with  a  shorter, 
sharper,  more  positive  cry  that  had  in  it  a  sound  of 
confirmation.  But  it  was  not  always  four  feet  or 
any  other  depth  on  both  sides  of  the  boat  at  the 
same  time. 

"Five-a-fate-a-a!"  the  man  on  the  port  might 
call  out,  to  be  answered  from  starboard  by  a  doleful 
warning: 

"Two-a-fate!" 

Then  Yukon — always  on  the  bridge  for  "the 
ticklish  bits" — would  jerk  the  engine-room  signal 
to  the  half -speed  indicator  and  frantically  whirl  the 
big  wheel  to  point  the  boat's  prow  to  port.  But  as 
often  as  not  we  were  just  an  instant  too  late  and 
zhr-r-o-og!  we  would  go  into  it.  It's  a  horrible 
sensation,  grounding  on  a  sand-bar! 

Yukon  had  a  very  amusing  trick  which  re- 
quired quick  action  and  considerable  skill.  If  he 
wasn't  "in  too  Dutch,"  as  he  expressed  it,  he  would 
reverse  the  paddle,  churn  up  a  big  forward  wave, 
and  glide  over  on  it,  and  his  grin  of  triumph  when 
he  succeeded  in  doing  this  was  worth  living  to  see. 
We  had  to  struggle  a  number  of  times,  but  we  never 
had  to  call  for  a  patrol  tug,  and  in  consequence  we 
were  able  to  pass  a  few  less  fortunate  or  less  skil- 
fully handled  boats  with  an  air  of  lofty  disdain. 
All  of  which  is  mere  brief  illustration  of  some  of  the 
daily  and  commonplace  difficulties. 

The  serene  hours  were  those  we  spent  on  broad 
and  sufficiently  deep  reaches  of  the  river,  when  the 
boys  with  the  plumbing-poles  sat  and  chanted  back 
and  forth  a  never  varying  call  in  their  own  language. 

234 


FROM  AMARA  TO  KUT-EL-AMARA 

"Ba'hut  pani,"  is  what  they  said,  and  it  means 
literally  "plenty  of  water."  They  never  began  to 
sing  "Ba'hut  pani"  until  they  could  no  longer  touch 
bottom,  but  the  suddenness  with  which  we  struck 
shallows  or  sand-drifts  proved  the  tremendous 
treachery  of  the  river  and  the  necessity  for  ceaseless 
vigilance.  Among  my  memories  of  the  Tigris  I 
shall  always  retain  the  melody  of  that  slow  chant, 
"Ba-a-hut  pa-nee-e-e!"  ending  in  a  long,  sweet, 
lingering  note  and  being  answered  by,  "Ba-a-hut 
pa-nee!"  in  a  lower  but  no  less  musical  key;  the 
mingled  sounds  banking  in  against  the  high  shelving 
ledges  of  current-cut  clay  on  either  side  and  spread- 
ing out  over  the  surfaces  of  the  slow,  still  river  in 
ever-receding,  ever-renewed  waves  of  lonesome- 
sounding  music. 

Just  before  we  reached  Kut-el-Amara  we  came  to 
the  battle-field  of  Sunnaiyat,  one  of  the  ghastliest 
of  all  the  historic  fields  of  Mesopotamia.  For  my 
benefit  we  banked  in  and  went  ashore.  I  had  heard 
the  fearful  tales  and  I  wanted  to  see  the  fearful 
setting  of  them.  I  climbed  the  camel-thorny  slope 
of  the  high  Bund  and  stood  for  a  moment  gazing 
across  the  far-flung  network  of  crumbling,  shell- 
riven  trenches.  That  is  all  Sunnaiyat  now  is.  All 
— except  that  the  trenches  are  filled  with  dead 
men's  bones.  Sunnaiyat  —  the  name  of  a  waste 
place  where  men  have  suffered  as  men  have  suffered 
on  few  other  spots  on  earth — even  in  this  war. 

Within  hearing  distance  of  Kut,  the  men  be- 
sieged at  Kut  listened  to  the  thunder  of  the  guns  of 
Sunnaiyat  for  weeks  on  end — and  with  what  prayer- 
ful hope  who  has  the  power  to  imagine?  And  it 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

was  at  Siinnaiyat  that  the  Turks  made  their  last 
desperate  stand  against  General  Maude's  victorious 
army  in  February,  1917,  the  three  days'  battle  that 
raged  then  over  the  already  blood-drenched  and 
historic  ground  being  one  of  the  fiercest  and  costliest 
fights  of  the  whole  campaign. 

This  was  the  fourth  battle  of  Sunnaiyat,  the  first 
three  having  been  fought  in  April,  1916,  during  the 
course  of  the  last  tremendous  effort  the  British 
made  to  relieve  General  Townshend. 

It  was  high  noon  when  we  landed,  and  the  sun, 
searching  through  thick  sweaters  and  coats,  burnt 
one's  skin  with  a  dry,  prickly  burning,  while  the 
wind  blew  penetratingly  chill  across  the  mournful 
waste.  And  I  was  glad  of  the  healthy  discomfort 
because  my  flesh  crept  with  the  horror  of  the 
things  I  saw  and  the  things  my  mind  was  forced  to 
visualize.  The  Arabs  have  always  searched  and 
looted  the  battle-fields — and  they  do  not  rebury  the 
dead! 

I  have  been  on  many  battle-fields  before — in 
France,  in  Serbia,  in  Belgium.  But  they  were 
battle-fields  eloquent  of  living  love;  clothed  for  the 
most  part  with  green  things  and  having  white  crosses 
hung  with  immortelles  to  mark  the  graves  of  the 
fallen  who  •  were  buried  where  they  fell.  They 
seemed,  those  battle-fields,  as  thresholds  between 
suffering  faith  and  triumphant  realization,  and  I 
remembered  thinking  in  the  scarred  but  sweet 
green  fields  of  French  Lorraine  that  I  might  lie 
down  with  my  ear  against  the  wholesome  earth  and 
hear  God's  heart  beat. 

But  Sunnaiyat,  in  Mesopotamia — land  of  ancient 
battles  and  Cradle  of  the  World — Sunnaiyat  is 

236 


KUT-EL-AMARA — THE   SCENE   OF   THE   GREAT  SIEGE 


ON   THE   BATTLE-FIELD   OF   SUNNAIYAT AN   ARAB   GHOUL 


FROM  AMARA  TO  KUT-EL-AMARA 

gashed  and  ghastly,  naked  and  piteously  ashamed. 
To  have  marked  the  resting-places  of  the  dead  on 
this  or  on  any  other  remote  field  of  heroism  in  this 
unholy  land  would  have  been  only  to  invite  an 
even  more  hideous  outrage.  So  trenches  were 
filled  and  great  levels  were  made,  and  one  can  only 
thank  God  that  the  British  graves  are  left  prac- 
tically undisturbed. 

Yet,  one  wants  to  cover  the  bones  of  the  Turkish 
dead,  too.  One  wants  to  say  to  them:  "Rest  in 
Peace!  Boys  of  a  people  at  war*  with  invincible 
human  right,  you  fought  for  the  triumph  of  your 
own  beliefs,  or  as  you  were  commanded  to  fight; 
as  it  was  given  to  you  to  win  your  badges  of  hero- 
ism, you  have  won.  Rest  in  Peace!" 

Out  on  the  edge  of  the  intrenchments  there  were 
creeping  figures  bent  over  in  eager  search  of  the 
sacred  ground.  Arab  ghouls!  Not  yet  satisfied 
after  so  many  months?  No,  not  yet  satisfied. 
They  would  pick  up  something  and  gather  in  an 
eager  group  to  examine  it  in  the  sunlight.  Nothing. 
They  would  toss  it  aside  and  go  on  creeping — 
creeping.  .  .  . 

I  wonder  how  many  of  them  had  tossed  aside  the 
precious  thing  I  found.  It  was  lying  near  the 
entrance  of  a  British  trench — an  old  leather 
bayonet-scabbard  all  burned  and  blackened  at  the 
end,  as  though  some  one  had  been  poking  a  fire 
with  it.  And  of  course  some  one  had.  Some 
blessed  Tommy,  perhaps  coaxing  the  coals  under 
his  supper  while  shells  whistled  over  his  head.  He 
had  either  died  or  he  had  thrown  it  aside  in  a  rush 
to  meet  the  enemy  hand  to  hand.  So  much  of  this 
fighting  was  hand  to  hand. 

237 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

I  stood  and  pondered  over  the  old  scabbard, 
looking  at  it  and  then  at  the  fearful  scene  around  us. 
And  in  my  mind  I  saw  two  boys;  one — still  in  the 
ranks  fighting  the  great  fight;  the  other — his  head 
held  high  in  the  shining  column  of  the  Forever 
Beloved  host.  "Which  of  them  threw  the  scabbard 
away? 

The  British  held  this  position  from  the  first 
disastrous  attempt  to  relieve  General  Townshend 
until  near  the  end  of  the  campaign  which  cul- 
minated in  the  capture  of  Baghdad,  and  for  sheer 
horror  and  unmitigated  hardship  nothing  could 
possibly  surpass  the  thing  they  lived  through. 

The  men  engaged,  already  worn  with  battle,  were 
compelled  to  hold  on  week  after  week  without  hope 
of  respite  or  relief.  And  there  was  not  so  much  as 
a  blade  of  grass  for  them  to  rest  their  eyes  upon; 
only  the  terrible  desert  under  a  pitiless  burning 
sun.  They  were  hemmed  in  by  the  river  on  one 
side,  and  on  the  other  by  a  vast  marsh  which,  when 
the  wind  was  right,  had  a  mystifying  habit  of 
moving  in  on  the  position  and  flooding  everything, 
that  being  one  of  the  peculiar  habits  of  the  marshes 
that  I  have  spoken  of.  They  literally  do  blow 
about  the  desert,  spreading  with  terrifying  rapidity 
even  before  a  light  wind  if  it  is  steady  enough. 
So  a  company  might  be  intrenched  in  comparative 
comfort  one  hour  in  a  position  where  it  would  be 
in  danger  of  drowning  the  next,  and  with  never  a 
drop  of  rain  to  clear  the  air  of  the  blinding,  choking, 
torturing  clouds  of  fine  dust  that  the  desert  winds 
always  carry  before  them. 

Nobody  can  tell  me  that  the  men  who  have 
fought  in  Mesopotamia  do  not  deserve  some 

238 


FROM  AMARA  TO  KUT-EL-AMARA 

special  kind  of  recognition  —  which  they  never 
will  get! 

Leaving  the  British  position,  we  walked  a  long 
way  across  the  one-time  No  Man's  Land — now  a 
tangle  of  rubbish  and  rust-blackened  barbed  wire — 
and  came  up  on  the  Turkish  parapets.  And  there 
I  saw  evidence  enough  that  the  Arabs  bestow  their 
ghoulish  attentions  chiefly  upon  the  Turkish  dead. 
It  is  not  thought  that  this  is  because  the  British  are 
more  respected.  It  is  only  that  more  of  Talue  is 
to  be  found  in  the  Turkish  graves.  The  British 
search  the  bodies  of  their  own  dead  before  they  bury 
them.  This  is  done  on  order  and  for  what  are 
officially  listed  as  "objects  of  sentimental  value," 
all  such  objects  being  returned  to  the  family  of  the 
fallen  man.  But  the  British  do  not  search  the 
bodies  of  enemy  dead,  and  in  their  final  victorious 
advance  over  this  field  it  fell  to  their  lot  to  bury 
hundreds  of  them. 

So  one  finds  a  fearful  story  written  in  the  tragic 
gullies  of  the  Turkish  position.  No  need  to  write 
it  out.  Heaps  of  moldering  soldier  clothes  and 
dead  men's  bones  scattered  and  kicked  about! 
Such  things  cause  waves  of  shuddering  nausea  to 
sweep  over  the  normal  living  human. 

Yet  the  British  have  buried  and  reburied  the  dead 
on  the  field  of  Sunnaiyat.  They  have  punished  the 
Arabs  and  have  pleaded  with  them.  But  it  is  an 
isolated  field.  It  is  far  away  from  any  connection 
with  things  as  they  are  to-day  and  there  is  not  a 
human  habitation  within  many  miles  of  it,  unless 
it  be  an  Arabs'  tented  encampment  in  the  desert. 

I  was  glad  enough  to  trudge  back  as  quickly  as 
possible  across  the  miles  of  gashed  and  ghastly 

239 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

waste,  to  get  back  aboard  our  peaceful  old  boat, 
and  to  let  myself  rest  in  a  deep  deck  chair  while  the 
depth-measurers  filled  the  evening  with  the  monot- 
onous sweet  melody  of  "Ba'hut  pani!" 

And  perhaps  I  should  not  try  to  write  about  a 
sunset.  But  when  all  is  said  it  is  nothing  but  the 
divine  intoxication  of  the  Mesopotamian  evening 
lights  that  gets  into  one's  blood  and  creates  in  one's 
inner  consciousness  an  impression  that,  after  all, 
Mesopotamia  is  a  land  to  love. 

The  desert  is  horizon- wide;  it  is  dotted  here  and 
there  with  the  black  goatskin  tents  of  Bedouin 
encampments  and  is  filled  with  slanting  sun  rays 
that  turn  all  the  hollows  into  lakes  of  mauve  and  all 
the  knolls  and  high  places  into  points  of  flame-shot 
amber.  The  sky  and  the  broad  reflecting  ribbon  of 
the  Tigris  are  all  wonderful  orange,  deepened  by 
low-hanging  clouds  that  are  blue  with  the  blue  of  the 
sapphire  and  are  outlined  with  narrow  fringes  of 
glinting  gold.  The  light  of  a  pallid  young  moon 
makes  its  way  into  the  swiftly  gathering  shadows, 
to  lie  presently  down  the  length  of  the  moveless 
coppery  river  in  a  band  of  palest  yellow. 

Colors!  I  never  saw  such  colors!  And  in  the 
path  of  moonlight,  with  the  sunset  lights  still  glow- 
ing on  the  edges  of  the  darkening  plain,  a  great 
high-hulled  and  tall-masted  mahayla  swings  round 
a  bend,  its  broad  brown  sail  softly  bellied  by  the 
almost  imperceptible  breeze. 

Then:  "Ba-a-hut  pa-nee-e-e!  Ba-a- hut  pa-nee!" 
Creeping  sweet  echoes — and  the  far-away,  heart- 
chilling  shrieks  of  a  thousand  jackals  greeting  the 
night  wherein  they  range  the  boundless  reaches  of 
fearful  desolation. 

240 


FROM  AMARA  TO  KUT-EL-AMARA 

In  the  last  light  of  that  amazingly  finished  day 
we  saw  for  the  first  time  the  — th  Regiment  of 
Cavalry  that  left  Basra  on  the  long  trail  to  the 
front  two  days  before  we  started.  And  it  was  a 
thrilling  thing  to  see.  In  a  final  burst  of  energy 
after  the  day's  weary  march  they  swept  up  to  the 
marching-post  on  the  river-bank  in  a  wide-curving 
column  of  fours  which  stretched  away  into  the  dis- 
tance in  a  low  bank  of  fine  desert  dust  that  floated 
off  like  a  mist  cloud  in  the  moonlight.  And  behind 
them  lay  a  last  streak  of  orange  against  the  desert's 
edge,  the  sky  above  them  a  pearly  gray  in  which 
one  great  star  shone.  What  a  picture! 

We  watched  them  from  the  bridge  until  we 
rounded  a  wide  bend  in  the  river  and  could  see  them 
no  longer;  then  the  cheerful  sounds  they  made  in 
their  methodical  preparations  for  the  night  followed 
us  a  long  way  in  the  wonderful  silence. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A  NEW  KUT 

'"PHE  Mesopotamia!!  war  zone  is  far  away  from 
•*•  the  great  centers  of  war  and  intense  world- 
interest,  and  subsequent  tremendous  events  else- 
where have  made  the  days  of  Townshend  and  his 
unyielding  small  army  seem  remote. 

But  on  the  River  Tigris — its  bed  metaled  with 
shot  and  shell  and  strewn  with  the  debris  of  war — 
one  remembers  those  days  with  compelling  vivid- 
ness and  attaches  to  them  their  just  measure  of 
importance. 

Mesopotamia  is  a  sacred  land.  It  is  sacred  to 
some  of  the  strongest  nations  and  the  greatest  re- 
ligious sects  on  earth.  It  is  a  land  wherein  the 
voices  of  the  deities  of  many  peoples  have  been 
heard.  It  is  filled  with  shrines  and  sacred  cities. 
It  is  a  land  of  devout  pilgrimage. 

And  Kut-el-Amara,  I  think,  will  always  be 
sacred  to  the  British.  At  Kut  their  pride  was 
crucified,  and  at  Kut  their  pride  was  eventually  re- 
deemed and  rose  triumphant,  a  chining  thing  which 
shines  in  Mesopotamia  to-day  in  the  finest  demon- 
stration of  high  morality  and  right  purpose  that  I 
have  ever  seen. 

242 


A  NEW  KUT 

The  first  thing  one  observes  on  approaching  Kut 
from  the  south  is  a  tall  obelisk.  It  stands  out  in 
the  general  scene,  rising  in  the  center  of  things  on 
the  peninsula  that  is  formed  by  a  great  bend  in  the 
river  and  on  which  the  town  of  Kut  is  built.  The 
obelisk  was  raised  by  the  Turks  to  commemorate 
the  surrender  of  General  Townshend  and  their  vic- 
tory over  the  British  forces  that  had  tried  so  long 
and  so  heroically  to  relieve  him.  When  I  saw  it 
from  far  down  the  river  I  asked : 

"What  is  the  monument?" 

They  told  me.  And  it  became  at  once  to  me 
as  an  exclamation  point  to  punctuate  my  own 
astonishment ! 

Was  ever  anything  quite  so  premature?  It  makes 
one  realize  as  nothing  else  could  how  confident  the 
Turks  and  the  Germans  were  that  they  had  the 
British  in  Mesopotamia  permanently  defeated. 

Defeated!  It  is  incredible  that  any  one  could 
have  imagined  it!  In  the  face  of  things  as  they 
have  become  that  obelisk  seems  to  me  to  express 
a  kind  of  whimpering  entreaty,  as  though  it  felt 
itself  strangely  inappropriate  and  would  get  away 
if  it  could  to  follow  its  builders  on  the  long  trail  of 
retreat  to  the  north.  It  is  a  monument  to  monu- 
mental misconjecture,  the  ironic  humor  of  it  being 
unique  and  a  thing  in  which  Englishmen  may  now 
rejoice. 

KUT-EL-AMARA ! 

But  first  comes  new  Kut,  and  we  stop  there.  It 
is  another  busy  base  of  supply  and  transport  ac- 
tivities, a  main  junction  in  the  vast  veinage  of  com- 

2-43 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

munication  with  the  front  and,  to  my  mind,  at 
least,  the  most  interesting  of  them  all. 

When  we  arrived  at  Kut  we  drew  in  against  the 
bank  and  made  of  ourselves  an  instantly  interesting 
addition  to  the  conglomerate  scene  along  the  river- 
front. Interesting  we  always  were,  of  course;  it 
being  in  the  nature  of  things  that  the  arrival  of  the 
Inspector-General  of  Communications  should  be  re- 
garded as  somewhat  of  an  event.  Having  just  re- 
turned from  a  trip  to  India,  it  was  six  weeks  or 
more  since  he  had  been  up  the  river,  and  there  was 
much  to  make  long  conferences  a  necessity.  The 
base  commandant  and  a  number  of  other  officers 
came  down  to  the  river-bank  to  greet  us,  and  the 
General,  accompanied  by  the  Major,  was  soon  off 
to  base  headquarters  for  the  inevitable  consultation. 

By  that  time,  having  come  all  the  way  up  the 
Tigris  at  the  rate  of  about  six  miles  an  hour, 
traveling  most  of  the  way  by  daylight  and  stopping 
everywhere,  the  work  of  war  as  it  is  carried  on 
behind  an  army  on  active  service  had  ceased  to 
bewilder  and  astound  me.  It  had  not  become 
commonplace  and  uninteresting  by  any  means. 
Quite  the  contrary;  it  continued  to  enthrall  me 
absolutely. 

But  it  was  as  .though  there  never  had  been  and 
never  could  be  any  other  kind  of  work  in  the  world, 
and  I  had  come  to  a  point  where  I  could  witness  its 
immensities  without  expressing  the  emotions  that 
arose  in  me  altogether  in  terms  of  exclamation. 

They  told  me  that  Qurnah  was  the  worst  place 
on  the  river,  and  Amara  the  best,  and  the  spirit 
of  local  jealousy  and  pride  with  which  such 

244 


A  NEW  KUT 

claims  are  made  and  maintained  is  a  most  amusing 
thing.  The  British  soldier  stationed  at  Qurnah 
boastfully  enumerates  its  horrors — and  the  wonders 
he  performs  in  their  midst;  while  men  of  Amara 
dwell  at  length  upon  the  superior  advantages  of 
their  post — advantages  that  could  never  get  them- 
selves so  listed  if  there  were  no  such  horrors  as 
Qurnah's  in  the  near  vicinity  with  which  to  com- 
pare them.  Whatever  Qurnah  and  Amara  may  be, 
I  decided  for  myself  that  Kut — new  Kut,  that  is — 
exceeded  them  both  in  dust  and  dreariness  and  in 
its  incessant  rumble  and  rush  of  toilsome  industry. 
Kut  is  the  last  base  behind  the  advanced  base, 
which  is  located  far  up  the  river  and  is  connected 
by  branch  railways  with  the  outposts  of  supply 
behind  the  wide-curving  line  of  defense  round 
Baghdad. 

It  surely  would  surprise  Khalil  Pasha  and  his 
Turkish»  legions  if  they  could  see  this  place  now. 
It  stretches  along  the  grimly  historic  river-bank, 
covering  an  area  that  was  a  No  Man's  Land  during 
the  long  siege — a  No  Man's  Land  lying  under  the 
guns  of  General  Townshend's  hemmed-in  but  val- 
iant and  defiant  little  army;  and  it  has  a  popula- 
tion of  hardly  ever  less  than  twenty  thousand. 

True,  it  is  for  the  most  part  a  city  of  tents — 
and  an  amazing  sight  it  is!  And  true,  the  in- 
habitants are  mostly  coolie  laborers  of  every 
nationality  on  earth  that  produces  coolie  labor; 
but  in  addition  to  the  acres  upon  acres  of  tents 
there  are  long  streets  of  fine  hospital  huts  and 
many  good  permanent  buildings  for  railway  offices, 
construction  and  repair  shops,  engine-houses,  and 

working  quarters  generally. 
17  245 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

The  permanent  structures  are  all  built  or  are  be- 
ing built  to  type,  with  a  view  to  future  necessities 
and  the  development  of  a  real  town.  The  im- 
pudent prisoner  must  have  had  Rut  in  mind  when 
he  referred  to  British  building  plans  as  conforming 
to  the  architectural  style  of  the  country.  But  how 
would  he  expect  Englishmen  to  build? 

To  the  mind  of  the  interested  observer  their 
manner  of  doing  things  suggests  thoughts  of  a  pos- 
sible future  Peace  Conference  and  leads  to  specu- 
lations as  to  what  may  be  the  fate  of  poor  old 
Mesopotamia  as  a  pawn  on  the  international 
chess-board.  But  the  men  who  are  doing  the 
work  seem  to  concern  themselves  very  little 
with  such  speculations,  though  they  may  have 
faith  that  at  the  war's  end  such  principles  will 
prevail  as  will  make  the  greatest  good  of  the  great- 
est number  in  every  country  the  predominant  con- 
sideration. 

They  are  interested  chiefly,  I  think,  in  the  effect 
they  hope  to  produce  on  the  viewpoints  and  dis- 
positions of  the  native  populations.  They  are  all 
anxious  to  do  what  they  can,  while  the  opportunity 
lasts,  by  way  of  humanizing  and  civilizing  the  Arab, 
and  every  change  for  the  better  which  they  ob- 
serve in  his  attitude  they  regard  as  so  much  gamed 
for  the  general  good.  They  are  bent  on  showing 
him  such  fleshpots  of  Egypt  as  will  tempt  him  to 
sustained  industrial  effort,  and  at  the  same  time 
they  are  training  him  in  righteous  governmental 
methods.  When  the  profits  and  losses  of  the  war 
shall  come  to  be  added  up  and  apportioned  to  the 
various  countries  involved  it  will  be  found  that 
Mesopotamia,  regardless  of  what  her  eventual  fate 

246 


A  NEW  KUT 

may  be,  will  have  benefited  immeasurably.     And 
so  much  for  British  occupation! 

The  electric  power-house  at  Kut  is  as  yet  only  a 
corrugated  tin  shed,  but  out  of  that  shed  run  many 
wires  which  branch  off  and  spread  out  all  over  the 
great  area,  carrying  current  to  hundreds  of  high 
arc-lights  which  sputter  and  spurt,  collect  clouds 
of  insects — which  might  otherwise  be  more  pestifer- 
ously engaged — and  turn  darkness  into  something 
very  much  better  than  the  noonday  glare.  And 
at  Kut,  as  at  Basra  and  Amara  and  other  important 
points  along  the  river,  the  working-day — in  some 
branches,  at  least,  of  the  multiple  enterprise  of  war 
— is  twenty-four  hours  long. 

We  had  pulled  in  alongside  a  wide  cut  in  the  steep 
bank  through  which  automobiles  and  other  vehicles 
are  landed  from  boats  when  the  river  is  low,  and  the 
A.  D.  C.  and  I,  climbing  up  the  long  incline  into 
the  glare  and  the  mysterious  shadows  of  the  night, 
went  wandering. 

The  dust  was  literally  ankle-deep,  but  one  learns 
to  pay  no  attention  to  that  sort  of  thing.  It  is  one 
of  the  principal  duties  of  every  personal  servant  in 
Mesopot  to  keep  a  plentiful  supply  of  cleaned  boots 
on  hand  for  his  employer  and  to  be  always  ready 
to  take  advantage  of  any  opportunity  that  may 
present  itself  to  clean  said  employer  up  a  little  with 
brushes  and  polishing-cloths. 

The  wily  and  soft-spoken  Ezekiel  always  made  a 
great  to-do  over  brushing  me,  and  invariably  tried 
to  maneuver  me  out  into  a  bright  white  light  some- 
where so  that  everybody  would  be  able  to  observe 
his  excellence  and  humble  devotion.  Lilwa,  the 

247 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

Major's  boy,  was  forever  sitting  in  some  con- 
spicuous spot  on  the  deck,  brooding  over  a  row  of 
high  military  boots — polishing  them  with  loving 
care  until  he  could  see  his  own  smileless  face  in 
them;  while  the  General's  gentle  slave  simply 
followed  him  around. 

One  of  the  usual  sights  to  be  seen  on  the  S-l 
was  the  great,  gruff  Major-General  standing  in 
deep  consultation  with  a  group  of  other  officers — 
on  matters  of  serious  moment,  no  doubt — while  his 
boy  sprawled  at  his  feet,  plying  oily  flannels  and 
whisk  broom  on  dusty  boots  and  breeches.  The 
General  would  walk  off,  apparently  "unconscious  of 
the  boy's  existence,  but  the  boy  always  ran  after 
him  for  a  final  whisk  or  vigorous  rub,  then  lounged 
lazily  back  to  other  work,  muttering  to  himself. 
About  the  uselessness  of  his  .affectionate  care? 
Probably.  He  always  knew  the  General  sahib 
would  be  back  in  a  short  time,  dustier  than  ever. 
Everybody  was  always  dusty  and,  as  I  have  said, 
nobody  ever  paid  any  attention  to  it. 

The  A.  D.  C.  and  I  had  just  time  to  make  a 
round  of  the  works  before  changing  for  dinner. 
We  walked  round  a  dozen  young  pyramids  of  hay 
and  sacked  grain,  out  to  the  railway  sheds  and  sid- 
ings, where  hundreds  of  laborers  were  filling  cars 
with  supplies  for  advanced  base  and  the  front, 
and  where  a  fine  new  hospital-train  was  just  having 
its  precious  load  transferred  to  stretchers  and  motor- 
ambulances;  through  the  engine-houses  and  work- 
shops; past  long  rows  of  hospital  tents,  against  the 
canvas  sides  of  which  soft  lights  gleamed  palely; 
to  the  railway  station  farther  up  the  line,  where 
we  glimpsed  through  the  windows  khaki-clad  boys 

248 


A  NEW  KUT 

bending  over  telegraph  instruments;  out  round 
remount  and  mule  depots  and  the  veterinary  hos- 
pital; to  the  river-bank,  where  lines  of  coolies 
laden  with  sacks  and  boxes  were  coming  and  going 
in  unbroken  procession,  loading  barges  for  up-river 
and  transferring  the  cargo  of  other  barges  to  the 
big  orderly  supply-dumps  over  by  the  railway  sid- 
ings; up  to  the  power-house,  where  the  dynamos 
were  humming  and  the  garish  green  lights  were 
shining;  and  so  to  the  high  Bund  by  our  own  river 
landing,  where  we  stood  for  a  while  to  watch  an 
artillery  convoy  getting  under  way  for  the  front. 

There  were  many  screaming  mules,  whinnying 
horses,  and  men  barking  low-toned  orders  and 
moving  with  the  precision  of  inspection  drill.  The 
wide  dusty  field  was  packed  close  with  orderly 
rows  of  guns,  munitions-  and  kit-wagons,  am- 
bulances, and  all  the  paraphernalia  of  an  artillery 
regiment  on  the  march. 

And  with  what  an  inspiriting  rattle  and  clank  the 
swift,  methodical  business  was  accomplished !  Four 
mules  to  a  caisson,  they  were  brought  up  in  their 
jingling  harnesses,  snapped  into  their  places,  their 
riders  were  in  the  saddles,  and  they  were  trotting 
off  to  join  the  long  column  trailing  out  through  the 
dust-laden  electric  glare  and  on  into  the  dim  moon- 
lit desert  gloom  beyond  before  one  had  time  more 
than  to  glance  at  them. 

We  hurried  back  aboard  then,  to  get  ready  for  a 
dinner-party.  And  this  reminds  me  that  there 
was  just  one  thing  I  wanted  in  Mesopotamia  that 
I  did  not  have  sufficient  assurance  to  ask  for — I 
wanted  a  temporary  suspension  of  the  regulation 
that  forbids  nursing  sisters  to  dine  out. 

249 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

At  the  various  base  headquarters,  at  naval  head- 
quarters, on  gunboats,  at  interesting  officers'  messes 
— everywhere  that  hospitality  could  possibly  be 
dispensed — I  dined  as  the  guest  of  the  most  alto- 
gether delightful  hosts  I  ever  encountered  any- 
where. And  though  I  made  considerable  progress 
in  the  gentle  art  of  acting  as  though  being  the  only 
woman  in  a  world  inhabited  solely  by  men  was 
what  I  had  been  brought  up  from  my  youth  to 
regard  as  the  only  desirable  fate  for  me,  I  did  wish 
sometimes  for  at  least  one  other  representative 
of  my  kind — even  if  she  had  to  be  a  rule-making 
supervisor.  But,  no! 

The  rule  which  forbids  nursing  sisters  to  dine 
with  officers  can  be  broken  in  only  one  way.  Once 
in  a  great  while  an  officer  invites  some  sisters  to 
dinner  and  calls  it  High  Tea — with  capital  letters. 
On  such  an  occasion  sisters  have  been  known  to 
linger  in  an  officers'  mess  as  late  as  nine  o'clock. 
But  no  man  with  less  rank  than  a  Major-General 
would  dare  make  himself  responsible  foj  such  an 
unseemly  irregularity,  and  base  commandants  are 
only  colonels,  sometimes  even  majors.  So  at  Kut 
it  was  not  High  Tea  and  there  were  no  nursing 
sisters.  Aside  from  the  sisters,  you  understand,  I 
was  the  only  woman  in  existence  on  the  River 
Tigris. 

My  dinner-parties  were  all  memorable  events,  but 
the  one  at  Kut  was,  I  think,  especially  memorable. 
The  commandant's  mess  is  in  a  building  which  is 
like  a  hospital  hut  about  two-thirds  buried.  That 
is,  it  is  built  on  the  general  plan  of  a  hospital  hut, 
but  is  sunk  about  eight  feet  in  the  ground.  This 

250 


A  NEW  KUT 

style  of  temporary  structure  is  cooler  in  the  summer 
than  any  other,  but  the  early  dinner  conversation 
was  largely  about  how  scorpions — and  other  poison- 
ous creeping  creatures — found  it  such  an  easy  house 
to  get  into  that  they  made  it  a  kind  of  rendezvous. 
My  chair  had  no  rungs  for  me  to  hook  my  heels  on, 
so  I  just  had  to  sit  and  suffer.  Scorpions  are  much 
too  numerous  in  the  desert  wastes.  And  they  creep 
round  regardless,  you  know,  having  no  respect  at 
all  for  human  beings.  They  have  no  intelligence. 
It  was  rather  awful ! 

The  dust,  too,  rolled  in  without  encountering  any 
obstacles.  It  came  down  the  sloping  cuts  in  the 
earth  to  the  open  windows  in  rills  and  runnels  and 
swirling  clouds,  as  though  it  had  just  discovered  a 
hole  in  the  ground  which  it  must  make  haste  to  fill 
up,  and  with  it  would  have  come  clouds  of  little 
stinging  sand-flies  if  it  had  been  the  sand-fly  season. 

"Can't  you  find  a  better  place  than  this  to  build 
a  town?*'  I  asked. 

A  better  place?  No!  It  was  an  ideal  spot! 
A  wonderful  country  lay  all  round  about! 

Wonderful?  Why,  it  was  the  bleakest,  loneliest, 
most  dismal  stretch  of  desert  that  ever  seared  hu- 
man eyesight.  It  had  been  making  my  soul  ache 
the  whole  afternoon — ever  since  I  had  looked  out 
across  it  in  the  brazen  glare  of  midday  from  the 
naked  trenches  of  the  battle-field  of  Sunnaiyat. 
It  is  a  land  accursed  —  the  land  of  Babylonia. 
"Because  of  the  wrath  of  the  Lord  it  shall  not  be 
inhabited,  but  it  shall  be  wholly  desolate."  Thus 
saith  the  Lord  of  hosts. 

But  where  the  blood  of  the  Briton  is  poured  out 
there  the  earth  brings  forth  rich  harvests.  Behold 

251 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OP  THE  WORLD 

you  any  spot  under  the  sun  where  the  blood  of  the 
Briton  has  been  shed  and  deny  that! 

Besides,  there  is  such  a  thing  as  modern  irriga- 
tion. Whether  or  not  it  has  anything  on  ancient 
irrigation  is  very  doubtful,  but  it  is  the  thing  we 
know.  The  ancients  knew  the  art  of  conveying 
water  to  the  land,  and  the  land  of  Mesopotamia  is 
seamed  to-day  with  ditches  that  were  made  when 
the  world  was  young.  Mesopotamia  was  once  the 
granary  of  the  world.  It  can  be  made  again  the 
granary  of  the  world;  and  Kut,  the  sacred  city  of 
the  longest  and  bitterest  siege  of  the  greatest 
and  the  crudest  war,  lies  on  the  direct  highway  of 
the  world's  future  development.  From  Kut  the 
ways  run  out — caravan  routes  now,  but  to  be 
tremendous  railroads  in  your  time  and  mine — to 
tap  Persia  and  the  splendid  treasure  world  of 
Central  Asia  beyond.  Mind  you,  this  is  not  my 
talk;  it  is  the  talk  of  the  dinner-table. 

Then  there  are  the  Arabs,  children  of  Ishmael; 
it  is  time  the  curse  of  the  Lord  were  lifted  from 
them;  time  that  Abraham,  from  wherever  he  keeps 
his  bosom,  should  cease  to  be  able  to  recognize 
them  at  a  glance.  What  are  we  fighting  for  to-day 
but  to  lift  the  ancient  curses  from  the  children  of 
men — the  curses  not  only  of  arrogance  and  in- 
human greed,  but  the  curses  as  well  of  ignorance 
and  poverty,  and  the  sins  begot  of  those  always 
coupled  sins? 

"Oh,  but  really— " 

"Well,  never  mind!  We  haven't  licked  the 
Huns  yet,  but  with  the  United  States  with  us — 
God!  I  wish  I  had  a  hundred  years  to  live!" 

They  were  always  being  nice  like  that,  making 

252 


A  NEW  KUT 

me  feel  that  it  was  quite  all  right  to  be  an  Amer- 
ican. And  I  suppose  I  never  should  have  noticed 
it  if  it  had  not  been  for  a  few  former  experiences. 
During  the  first  two  and  a  half  years  of  the  war  I 
traveled  in  nearly  all  the  Allied  countries  as  a  more 
or  less,  and  rightly,  despised  neutral;  and  always  a 
suffering  neutral — because  I  myself  have  never 
known  a  neutral  hour  since  the  first  German  gun 
was  fired  across  the  Belgian  frontier. 

When  an  Englishman  in  those  days  pronounced 
the  word  "American"  with — what  should  one  say 
—  a  difference? — I  could  only  feel  sorry.  It  never 
made  me  angry  because  from  the  outset  I  had  to 
recognize  that  my  country  had  failed  to  fall  in  line 
in  the  greatest  struggle  for  the  betterment  of  all 
men  that  humanity  has  ever  witnessed.  Much  of 
the  time  I  was  close  up,  you  see,  and  close  up  one 
loses  sight  of  everything  but  the  fact  that  the  war 
on  the  Allied  side  is  and  always  has  been  an  al- 
mighty defense  of  great  principles  that  are  the 
rightful  heritage  of  us  all! 

For  an  American  it  is  different  now.  And  how 
the  wonderful  difference  makes  a  once  heavy 
American  heart  lift ! 

The  padre  sat  next  to  me,  a  handsome  and  charm- 
ingly vehement  young  divine,  who  could  utter 
maledictions  and  prophesy  world  strides  in  the  way 
of  right  with  a  ninety  of  diction  and  a  soft-voioed 
nonchalance  of  drawling  fervor  that  were  almost 
enough  to  make  me  forget  the  creeping  creatures. 

"The  United  States  with  us!"  Is  there  an 
American  or  Englishman  anywhere  who  fails  to 
understand  what  that  means?  We  are  coming 
surely  into  the  benefits  of  our  own,  and  our  own 

253 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

has  always  been  blood  brotherhood.  We  have 
everything  in  common — laws,  language,  literature, 
ideals  of  governmental  morality — generally  lived  up 
to  and  always  stoutly  proclaimed — and  bulldog 
jaws.  We  are  the  only  two  peoples  on  earth  that 
can  make  a  matched  team.  And  it  is  our  destiny 
together  to  defend  all  that  the  world  has  achieved, 
that  the  world's  conscience  approves. 

And  France!  But  France — is  France!  And  is 
it  not  strange  that  France  is  always  depicted  as  a 
woman?  A  goddess  of  all  the  high  liberties  of  mind 
and  soul !  And  on  either  side  of  her  in  all  the  pict- 
ures that  express  the  thoughts  of  men  stand  Uncle 
Sam  and  old  John  Bull! 

Dinner-table  conversation?  Yes,  of  course.  One 
American  woman  and  about  ten  British  army 
officers  in  a  desert  dugout  in  the  Cradle  ef  the 
World. 

Then  we  had  a  geography  lesson.  Nearly  all  the 
British  officers  I  met  in  India  and  Mesopotamia 
are  making  plans  to  go  home  via  the  United  States 
when  the  war  is  over. 

Heretofore  they  have  taken  the  shortest  route, 
via  the  Mediterranean  to  Marseilles,  and  then  the 
fastest  express  to  Calais  or  Boulogne.  But  they 
want  to  see  the1  United  States  now.  They  are  in- 
terested. I  have  mapped  out  routes  for  any  num- 
ber of  them,  enjoying  to  the  utmost  their  abysmal 
ignorance  of  American  geography. 

One  young  officer,  who  holds  an  Oxford  degree 
and  is  exceedingly  learned  in  his  line,  'lowed  as  how 
Washington  City  was  in  the  state  of  Virginia. 
Which  was  a  close-enough  guess  and  proved  that  at 
some  time  in  his  life  he  had  occasion  to  glance  at  a 

254 


A  NEW  KUT 

map  of  my  country.  I  asked  him  what  he  thought 
the  D.  C.  stood  for,  but  he  had  never  thought  of  that. 
When  I  explained  it  to  him  he  said  he  thought  it  was 
deuced  clever  of  our  old  boys  to  fix  it  that  way. 

"Just  stands  off  by  itself  and  belongs  as  "much  to 
one  state  as  to  another,  eh?  Long  heads  those 
British  fathers  of  your  country  had." 

"Yes,  hadn't  they!  WTiat  state  is  Kansas  City 
in?" 

"Kansas,  of  course.  I  say,  I  know  something 
about  the  United  States!" 

"Yes,  I  see  you  do.     What  state  is  St.  Louis  in?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know  everything."  Then  he 
switched  the  cut.  "  Which  is  the  smallest  county  in 
England?"  he  asked. 

"Good  Heavens!  Has  England  a  smallest  coun- 
ty? How  dreadful!" 

I  have  sent  them  all  a  zigzag  course  across  the 
United  States.  I  have  regretted  the  necessity  for 
cutting  out  the  great  Northwest,  but  there  is  a 
supreme  thrill  in  the  Grand  Canon  of  the  Colorado, 
SQ  I  have  sent  them  that  way,  via  southern  Cali- 
fornia, then  up  to  Denver,  and  on  to  Omaha, 
Kansas  City,  St.  Louis,  Chicago,  Pittsburgh,  Buf- 
falo, Niagara  Falls,  Albany,  and  down  the  Hudson 
to  New  York.  Then  I  have  recommended  side 
trips  to  Boston,  Philadelphia,  Washington,  and  the 
Virginia  of  their  romances  and  most  accurate 
knowledge. 

Going  still  farther,  I  have  advised  a  return  via  the 
United  States — instead  of  wasting  time  through 
the  Mediterranean  and  the  familiar  Suez — and  a  cut 
out  through  the  Northwest  to  Seattle  or  a  trip 
down  through  the  sweet  South  to  New  Orleans 

255 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

and  on  across  the  great  state  of  Texas.  It  be- 
wilders them  utterly.  And  they  usually  ask  if  our 
railroads  give  tickets  away  to  nice,  penniless  British 
army  officers  who  are  anxious  to  learn.  One  thinks 
they  might. 

The  padre  walked  with  me  back  to  our  boat- 
landing,  and  he  gave  me  some  bullets  that  the 
Turks  shot  into  Kut  during  the  siege.  They  are  a 
rare  kind  of  souvenir,  but  I  will  say  for  them  that 
they  look  more  or  less  like — just  bullets.  And  con- 
sidering what  the  siege  was,  there  must  be  millions 
of  them  somewhere. 

He  told  me  it  was  against  the  regulations  to  give 
such  things  away  to  be  carried  out  of  the  country 
— he  didn't  know  why — but  I  suppose  a  sufficiently 
popular  padre  can  break  almost  any  kind  of 
regulation. 

One  of  the  base  commandants  gave  me  a  beauti- 
ful brass  shell-case  that  was  shot  across  the  Shatt-el- 
Hai  when  General  Maude  was  hammering  his  way 
to  Baghdad.  And  now  that  I  have  gone  and  told 
about  it  I  suppose  he  will  get  hanged,  poor  man! 
If  he  does  I  shall  be  very  sorry,  because  he  was  just 
about  the  nicest  and  genialest  old  colonel  I  ever 
met.  He  knew  he  was  committing  a  crime,  but  I 
did  all  I  could  to  convince  him  that  it  was  justifiable. 

There  was  a  nearly  full  moon  high  overhead  in  a 
fleckless  sky;  the  bluish  arc-lights  sputtered  and 
flashed  on  their  tall  steel  poles,  and  the  scene  was 
shadowed  and  alive  with  the  figures  of  men  moving 
in  long  lines,  laden  or  free,  to  and  from  the  river- 
bank  where  numbers  of  steamboats  and  mahaylas 
lay.  In  the  wonderful  night  silence  an  occasional 

256 


A  NEW  KUT 

murmur  floated  to  one's  ears,  and  from  afar  off 
came  the  wild  call  of  the  desert  jackals. 

We  met  two  nursing  sisters  coming  out  of  their 
hut  quarters  and  stopped  to  talk  with  them.  They 
began  at  first  to  rail  at  "Trixie,"  the  incomparable 
general  supervisor,  but  thought  better  of  it  and, 
after  the  usual  gamut  of  unthrilling  pleasantries, 
ended  by  wishing  to  goodness  they  could  get  the 
fearful  dust  out  of  their  hair.  They  were  on  the 
way  to  night  duty  in  the  great  hospital  of  tents  that 
lay  off  at  the  edge  of  the  encampment. 

A  queer  world  to  live  in — the  war-time  Mesopo- 
tamian  world! 


CHAPTER  XVII 

•SHE  SCENE  OF  THE  TERRIBLE  SIEGE 

IT  was  late  in  the  afternoon  of  another  day  that 
the  A.  D.  C.  and  I  took  the  base  commandant's 
launch  and  went  up-river  to  old  Kut.  The  obelisk 
of  Turkish  victory  shone  palely  yellow  in  the  sun- 
light, and  the  date-palms,  sheltering  the  town  and 
fringing  the  river-banks,  gleamed  silvery  green 
under  their  coating  of  fine  desert  dust.  It  was  not 
until  we  rounded  a  wide  bend  that  the  town  came 
into  view,  and  I  approached  it  with  a  strangely 
tight  feeling  round  my  heart — in  reverent  mood. 

We  climbed  the  high  bank  and  came  up  into  the 
open  space  that  lies  along  the  river-front  of  the 
curious  old  town,  and  I  felt  as  I  think  a  man  must 
feel  when  he  involuntarily  removes  his  hat. 

This  plaza-like  area  is  being  made  to  grow  grass 
now,  and  some  day,  if  British  influence  continues  to 
predominate,  it  will  be  a  beautiful  park  filled  with 
palms  and  shrubs  and  flowering  things,  where  the 
people  will  walk  and  rest  in  the  quiet  and  the  cool 
of  evening  while  they  watch  the  desert  sunsets 
across  the  wide,  still  river. 

But  the  men  of  Townshend's  army  will  always 
remember  that  during  the  siege  no  one  dared  to 

258 


THE  SCENE  OF  THE  TERRIBLE  SIEGE 

venture  on  that  river-front,  even  to  go  down  to  the 
bank  for  water.  It  lay  under  the  guns  of  the 
enemy  on  the  other  side  and  was  within  easy  snip- 
ing reach. 

They  will  also  remember,  perhaps,  that  the  first 
thing  they  saw  on  it,  and  the  last,  was  a  gallows. 

Before  the  British  captured  the  town  in  1915 
the  Turks  kept  a  gibbet  there  for  the  benefit  of 
doubtful  Arabs,  and  after  General  Townshend's 
capitulation  their  initial  act  in  the  establishment 
of  their  control  was  the  erection  of  a  new  one,  on 
which  they  summarily  hanged  a  number  of  Arabs 
who  had  made  the  terrible  mistake  of  believing 
that  the  British  force  would  be  relieved. 

Our  launch  pilot  led  the  way  for  us  into  the  town 
and  through  an  intricate  maze  of  narrow  streets 
to  the  house  of  the  resident  commandant,  an  of- 
ficer whose  administrative  function  is  purely  civil, 
nothing  of  a  military  character  being  permitted 
now  to  touch  old  Kut  at  any  point. 

His  name  is  Captain  Wilson,  and  he  belonged  to 
General  Townshend's  army.  His  regiment  went 
through  the  siege  and  into  captivity,  but  he  was 
among  the  casualties  of  the  battle  of  Ctesiphon  and 
happened  to  be  in  one  of  the  boat-loads  of  wounded 
that  got  away  down-river  while  the  retreat  was  in 
progress. 

He  speaks  Arabic  and  seems  to  be  eminently  fitted 
for  his  job,  which  is  to  restore  Kut,  to  receive  and 
resettle  in  their  homes  the  returning  inhabitants, 
and  to  administer  their  numerous  and  tremendously 
disturbed  affairs.  It  is  not  an  easy  billet,  but, 
thanks  to  the  young  man's  industry  and  capacity 
for  organization,  coupled  with  the  support  of  the 

259 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

generally  benevolent  British  intention,  it  is  getting 
easier  all  the  time. 

The  town,  of  course,  was  literally  shot  to  pieces, 
there  being  large  areas  that  were  nothing  but  piles 
of  broken  brick  and  dusty  rubbish.  A  house  here 
and  there  may  have  come  through  in  fairly  good 
condition,  but  I  saw  none  that  bore  no  marks  of  shot 
and  shell. 

We  found  Captain  Wilson  at  headquarters — the 
same  house  General  Townshend  used  as  head- 
quarters during  the  siege.  And  I  really  ought  to 
write  that  in  such  a  way  that  I  could  use  an  ex- 
clamation point  by  way  of  emphasis.  There  is  an 
exclamation  point  in  my  mind,  and  there  was  when 
I  walked  up  to  that  historic  door.  I  stopped  a  mo- 
ment outside  it,  while  in  a  flash  of  visions  I  saw — 
many  things!  I  am  not  given  so  particularly  to 
thrills,  but  the  living  white  man  or  woman  who 
could  enter  that  doorway  without  a  lift  of  the 
heart  is  carrying  round  for  a  heart  a  lump  of  some- 
thing wholly  without  vibrant  quality. 

It  is  the  usual  four-square  Arab  house  with  the 
second-floor  rooms  opening  onto  a  narrow  balcony 
that  hangs  over  a  brick-paved  inner  court.  The 
first  thing  the  commandant  did  was  to  apologize 
smilingly  for  the  general  dilapidation.  The  whole 
court  was  a  wreck.  The  walls  were  nicked  an*d 
chipped,  the  balcony  rails  were  broken,  and  there 
was  not  a  piece  of  glass  left  intact  that  was  as 
large  as  the  palm  of  one's  hand. 

"We  have  not  yet  begun  to  bring  in  window- 
glass,"  he  said.  "It  is  not  a  necessity,  you  see,  and 
we  are  not  yet  dealing  in  anything  but  necessities." 

Not  a  necessity?     I  was  not  so  sure  about  that. 

260 


THE  SCENE  OF  THE  TERRIBLE  SIEGE 

There  is  a  short  but  rather  bitter  winter  in  Mesopo- 
tamia, and  it  was  coming  on  apace.  It  was  cold 
enough  even  then.  The  captain,  at  work  in  the 
underground  room  that  had  been  General  Town- 
shend's  office,  sat  at  his  desk  with  an  overcoat  on, 
while  out  in  the  court  a  crowd  of  Arabs  shivered  and 
hugged  themselves  for  warmth,  with  their  hands 
thrust  up  the  wide  sleeves  of  their  thin  burnooses. 

They  were  waiting  to  interview  their  British  wcdi, 
or  governor;  their  father,  friend,  boss — everything. 
That  is  what  the  commandant  has  to  be.  And  each 
of  them  would  prayerfully  present  a  claim  or  peti- 
tion of  some  kind,  which  it  might  or  might  not  be 
possible  foj  him  to  meet  or  grant.  He  would  do 
his  best.  A  friendly  and  satisfied  Arab  is  a  better 
citizen  than  an  Arab  with  a  grievance. 

As  we  came  out  into  the  court  he  quickly  ex- 
plained my  presence,  saying  that  he  intended  to 
escort  me  round  the  town  and  out  to  the  battle- 
lines.  They  must  either  wait  for  him  awhile  longer 
or  go  away  and  come  back  again  next  morning. 

They  looked  at  me  with  grave  curiosity  and 
seemed  quite  cheerful  about  being  put  off.  All 
but  one.  He  followed  us  out  and  down  the  long, 
narrow  street,  coming  up  beside  the  captain  and 
talking  to  him  rapidly  in  a  low,  insistent  tone. 
I  was  surprised  at  the  patience  with  which  the 
captain  listened,  and  when  he  answered  the  man 
threw  his  shoulders  back  with  a  smile  of  satisfac- 
tion, then,  with  a  low  salaam,  turned  and  rejoined 
his  companions. 

"What  is  his  particular  variety  of  trouble?" 
asked  the  A.  D.  C. 

"Oh,  a  dispute  about  one  of  the  old  gates.     I 

18  261 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

fancy  it  belongs  to  him,  all  right.  He's  only  been 
back  a  few  days." 

"What  old  gates?"  I  asked. 

"Some  our  chaps  saved.  There  were  a  number 
of  fine  ancient  doors  and  gates — carved  and  nail- 
studded  and  copper-bound  and  that  sort  of  thing — 
and  they  didn't  like  to  see  them  destroyed.  So 
they  took  them  down  and  put  them  in  a  safe  place. 
Some  of  the  men  who  were  exchanged  knew  where 
they  were — in  a  hole  in  the  ground — and  we  are 
putting  them  back  now." 

Quite  matter-of-factly  he  offered  this  small  con- 
tribution to  history.  I  laughed  with  a  kind  of 
heartaching  joy. 

"But  I  thought  there  was  a  fuel  famine,  among 
other  things,  and  that  they  burned  everything  fire 
would  consume!"  I  answered. 

"Oh  yes,  so  there  was  and  so  they  did.  But  they 
couldn't  burn  that  kind  of  thing,  could  they?" 

A  great  many  Englishmen  would  have  added, 
" We're  not  Huns  or  vandals,  you  know!"  But  he 
didn't. 

I  saw  one  of  the  old  doors  a  few  moments  later. 
It  was  dignifying  the  patched-up  ruins  of  a  mud- 
and-reed-mat  house;  a  fine  thing  in  a  curious  set- 
ting. Likely  as  not  it  dated  from  the  days  of  the 
Kaliphs  of  Baghdad. 

But  imagine,  if  you  can,  such  sentiment  in  the 
minds  of  men  besieged.  They  burned  their  own 
hospital  huts  and  all  their  vehicles.  A  packing- 
box  or  ammunition-crate  was  the  most  precious 
thing  in  the  world,  and  when  a  house  was  brought 
down  by  a  bomb  or  shell  its  few  timbers  and  laths 
were  regarded  as  a  godsend.  Fuel  was  exhausted 

262 


THE  SCENE  OF  THE  TERRIBLE  SIEGE 

long  before  food  began  to.  run  short;  they  were  be- 
sieged through  the  winter  months — from  the  7th 
of  December  until  the  end  of  April — but  nobody 
thought  of  requiring  physical  comfort.  They 
needed  fuel  for  their  mess  fires. 

They  began  eventually  to  eat  their  mules  and 
horses,  and  the  raw  flesh.  .  .  .  They  had  practi- 
cally no  fuel  at  all,  and  C.  B.,  a  medical  officer  who 
went  through  the  siege  and  who  has  written  such  an 
illuminating  and  inestimably  valuable  account  of 
it  from  a  medical  officer's  standpoint,  tells  about 
how  they  found  one  day  some  old  Turkish  bread 
which,  being  unfit  for  human  consumption,  was 
yet  priceless,  because  it  would  burn.  They  burned 
it,  and  were  very  sorry  afterward  when  they  began 
to  realize  that  the  phrase  "unfit  for  human  con- 
sumption" is  unlimitedJy  comparative. 

The  bazaar  and  the  serais  of  old  Kut  skirt  the 
plaza  which  lies  along  the  river-front,  and  they 
were  riddled  by  shot  and  shell.  Because  the  life 
of  an  Arab  town  is  centered  in  its  bazaars,  the  first 
important  thing  to  be  undertaken  was  the  rebuild- 
ing of  the  long  arcade  and  the  restoration  of  the 
vaulted  streets,  which  are  lined  with  small  booths 
for  the  accommodation  of  the  merchants.  This  is 
finished  now,  or  nearly  so,  and  life  has  begun  to 
resume  its  normal  course — with  the  big  city  of  war 
an  easy  walk  down  the  river-bank  to  contribute  to 
its  intensity  and  interest. 

The  reconstruction  is  all  done  with  materials 
sifted  out  of  the  crumbling  ruins,  and  advantage  is 
taken  of  the  opportunity  to  widen  the  streets  and 
to  build  with  improved  sanitary  conditions  always 

263 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

in  view.  It  is  all  very  fine,  and  one  warmly  ap- 
proves the  right-minded  ambition  that  inspires  the 
builders;  but,  save  for  its  too  evident  newness,  it 
will  be  difficult  soon  to  realize  that  Kut  was  ever  the 
scene  of  an  unparalleled  torture  of  men  and  a  town 
laid  waste. 

On  the  way  out  to  the  lines  of  defense  we  passed 
through  a  still  untouched  section  of  ruin  and  rub- 
bish, and  stopped  in  open  spaces  here  and  there  to 
examine  the  pitiful  holes  in  the  ground  where  the 
men  lived  most  of  the  time  to  escape  the  peril  of 
constant  bombardment  and  the  too  frequent  bomb- 
ing from  the  air. 

Along  toward  the  end  of  the  siege  they  began  not 
to  bother  much  about  moving  round  or  even  about 
relieving  one  another  in  the  trenches.  One  place 
was  as  good  as  another  as  far  as  comfort  and  safety 
were  concerned,  and  the  men  in  the  front  lines 
simply  stayed  where  they  were.  They  could  hold 
guns  to  the  end  and  defend  the  position,  but  they 
were  too  weak  to  walk  back  the  length  of  the 
peninsula  to  the  rear  lines. 

For  weeks  they  had  just  sufficient  food  to  sustain 
life,  and  it  is  told  of  them  that  they  chewed  the  ends 
of  their  fingers  until  they  bled  and  became  very 
sore. 

Horrible?  Yes.  But  it  is  also  told  of  them  by 
comrades,  who  were  sent  back  after  the  surrender 
in  exchange  for  Turkish  prisoners,  that  not  one  of 
them  ever  whimpered  or  complained.  Not  once 
did  any  man,  Indian  or  Englishman,  voice  a  desire 
to  do  anything  but  hold  on  and  hold  on.  They  had 
sublime  faith  that  the  relief  force — the  music  of 
whose  guns  thrilled  in  their  ears  day  after  day — 

264 


THE  SCENE  OF  THE  TERRIBLE  SIEGE 

would  succeed;  and  General  Townshend  was  the 
courageous  hero  of  their  utmost  idolatry. 

When  we  came  in  from  the  tragic  lines  of  defense, 
dominated  now  by  the  Turkish  obelisk  of  victory, 
we  turned  into  the  cemetery  which  lies  at  the  edge 
of  the  town,  with  the  wide  waste  of  the  desert 
stretching  out  to  the  eastward  beyond  it. 

And  what  a  cemetery !  It  is  surrounded  by  a  new 
mud  wall  that  the  pommandant  has  built,  and  there 
are  a  few  drooping,  tired-looking,  transplanted 
palm-trees  hanging  over  the  graves.  But  I  looked 
across  it  and  wondered  what  it  was  that  I  missed. 
The  dreadful  nakedness  of  it  hurt  me,  yet  I  did  not 
grasp  at  the  moment  what  it  was  that  gave  me  an 
impression  of  dreadful  nakedness.  Then  I  realized. 

"The  graves  are  not  marked!"  I  said. 

"No,"  answered  the  commandant. 

There  was  a  long  pause  then,  during  which  the 
three  of  us — the  A.  D.  C.,  the  commandant,  and  I — 
stood  by  the  mud  wall  looking  out  across  the  deso- 
late stretch  of  six-foot  mounds,  thinking  each  his 
own  thoughts. 

"They  w^ere  all  marked  as  they  were  made,  of 
course,"  the  commandant  finally  said.  "And  the 
only  explanation  we  can  think  of  is  that  the  Turks 
had  German  officers.  The  Turks  have  a  good  deal 
of  respect  for  anybody's  dead,  and,  so  far  as  we  have 
known,  they  don't  do  that  kind  of  thing.  But  they 
took  away  all  the  crosses,  and  now  it's  impossible  to 
tell  where  any  man  is  buried.  And  there's  a 
major-general  in  here,  and  a  number  of  other 
officers — " 

The  hospital  at  Kut  is  a  civil  institution  estab- 

265 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

lished  for  the  benefit  of  the  native  population.  It 
is  in  the  partially  patched-up  ruin  of  one  of  the 
larger  buildings  which  stands  near  the  one  mosque 
of  the  town,  the  single  slender  minaret  of  which 
miraculously  escaped  destruction. 

The  doctor,  a  Scotchman  with  a  delightful  bur  in 
his  tongue,  was  in  his  dispensary,  putting  up 
medicines  for  a  line  of  waiting  Arabs.  He  apolo- 
gized at  once  for  the  unhospital-like  dilapidation  and 
disorder  of  the  place  and  was  not  sure  that  he 
would  consent  to  show  it  to  me.  It  was  a  trial 
to  his  medical  officer's  conscience,  and  as  soon  as 
he  had,  by  degrees,  taught  the  natives  not  to  be 
afraid  of  him  and  his  works,  he  was  going  to  make 
the  commandant  provide  him  a  suitable  building. 
But  for  the  time  being  his  rows  of  bottles,  cases  of 
instruments,  and  the  medical  smells  which  envelop 
him  are,  to  the  native  mind,  evidence  enough  of  his 
wizardry;  and  anything  in  the  nature  of  spotless 
and  light,  airy  wards  filled  with  rows  of  stiff  little 
white  beds  would  simply  frighten  them  away. 

Most  of  his  patients  he  treats  and  sends  back  to 
their  homes  at  once,  but  a  few  cases  which  require 
special  attention  he  keeps  in  some  dark,  dismal 
rooms  up-stairs,  which  are  all  he  has  at  his  disposal. 
A  majority  of  these  are  eye  cases. 

Among  the  Arabs  there  is  an  appalling  amount 
of  blindness.  Much  of  it  is  caused,  perhaps,  by 
the  glare  and  the  dust  of  the  desert,  but  a  larger 
part  of  it  is  attributable  to  the  fact  that  mothers 
know  nothing  about  the  care  of  the  eyes  of  infants. 

It  seems  to  me  I  have  seen  literally  hundreds  of 
blind  children  from  five  to  ten  or  twelve  years  of 
age,  and  most  of  them  utterly  hopeless.  There  are 

266 


THE  SCENE  OF  THE  TERRIBLE  SIEGE 

a  great  many  cases  of  simple  cataract,  and  these  the 
big  Scotch  medical  officer  can  handle  with  what  the 
Arabs  regard  as  miraculous  success.  He  has  per- 
formed dozens  of  operations  and  has  sent  a  number 
of  men  and  women  who  had  been  blind  for  years 
back  to  their  homes  or  to  their  tents  in  the  desert 
with  eyes  as  clear  as  anybody's. 

But  the  result  is  that  he  is  beset  by  the  blind. 
People  come  leading  blind  relatives  and  friends 
from  miles  and  miles  away,  and  more  often  than 
not  there  is  no  sight  left  to  them  to  restore.  Their 
eyes  are  completely  gone.  And  this  is  a  fearful 
trial  for  the  doctor,  because  they  think  he  could  cure 
them  all  if  he  wanted  to.  They  even  go  so  far  as 
to  make  prayers  to  him  and  try  to  propitiate  him 
with  gifts,  as  though  he  were  some  kind  of  wrath- 
ful and  unreasonable  god. 

The  I.  G.  C.  says  that  as  soon  as  it  is  possible 
he  is  going  to  organize  small  units  of  doctors  and 
oculists  and  send  them  out  all  over  the  country  on 
medical  missionary  tours.  They  will  perform  oper- 
ations, attack  disease  of  all  kinds,  and  undertake  to 
hammer  into  the  heads  of  the  people  a  little  in- 
formation about  preventive  measures,  especially  as 
regards  the  care  of  the  eyes  of  small  children. 

When  we  left  the  sad  little  hospital  we  went  back 
to  headquarters  and  climbed  to  the  roof,  from 
which — with  what  emotions  who  can  say? — General 
Townshend  watched  for  weary  weeks  the  enemy 
surrounding  him  and  the  repeated  efforts  of  his 
own  people  to  rescue  him.  And  there  we  stood 
and  reviewed  the  tragic,  tremendous  story,  with  the 
whole  scene  of  it  lying  before  us  like  a  map. 

It  was  not  until  the  sun  had  sunk  in  the  far-away 

267 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

desert  glories  of  evening  and  the  moon  had  begun 
to  shine  palely  on  the  river  that  the  A.  D.  C.  and  I, 
with  subdued  minds  and  saddened  hearts,  bade  the 
commandant  good-by  on  the  river-bank,  boarded 
our  launch,  and  slipped  down  round  the  great  bend 
to  where  the  comfortable  old  S-l  lay  moored  before 
the  bustling  new  Kut — a  new  Kut  ablaze  with  a 
myriad  cheerful  lights. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

WITH   GENEEAL  MAUDE   IN   COMMAND 

TIEUT.-GEN.  SIR  STANLEY  MAUDE  took 
J-rf  command  of  the  Mesopotamia!!  Expeditionary 
Force  on  the  28th  of  August,  1916,  and  according 
to  his  own  report  to  the  War  Office  he  devoted  him- 
self up  to  about  mid-December  to  preliminary 
preparations  for  a  resolute  offensive,  the  enemy's 
intention  apparently  being  to  hold  him  on  the  de- 
fensive in  the  Tigris  River  region  below  Kut  while 
they  developed  a  big  drive  down  through  Persia — 
this  being  a  revival  of  their  original  plan. 

Maude  had  first  to  develop  adequate  base  sup- 
port, and  then  to  get  into  utmost  fighting  trim 
large  bodies  of  men  who  had  suffered  not  only  the 
fiber-destroying  tortures  incident  to  a  record  hot 
season,  but  the  demoralizing  effects  of  defeat. 

By  December  he  had  accomplished  the  concen- 
tration of  his  forces  near  the  enemy  positions  south 
of  Kut.  On  the  night  of  December  13th  the  Big 
Drive  began.  Until  those  forces  surrounded  and 
passed  north  of  captured  Baghdad  on  the  llth  of 
March,  1917,  they  were  in  practically  continuous 
action. 

There  were  four  divisions  of  infantry  and  one 
division  of  cavalry;  the  corps  commanders  being 

269 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

Lieut.-Gen.  Sir  A.  S.  Cobbe,  V.C.,  D.S.O.,  astride 
the  Tigris,  and  Lieut.-Gen.  Sir  William  Marshall 
with  the  cavalry  and  a  strong  force  of  infantry  to 
the  westward  and  on  t^e  Shatt-el-Hai.  The  enemy 
was  strongly  intrenched  in  long-established  posi- 
tions on  the  Hai  and  at  Kut-el-Amara,  and  it  is 
interesting  to  record  that  hordes  of  well-armed 
Arabs  hovered  on  the  flanks  of  both  armies — as  is 
their  custom — ready  to  fall  upon  and  help  to  cut 
to  pieces  whichever  side  should  begin  to  suffer 
defeat. 

The  weather  throughout  the  period  of  operations 
was  execrable  and  managed  to  contribute  to  the 
grand  sum  of  horror  and  suffering  a  bewildering 
variety  of  acute  irritations.  During  the  early  part 
of  the  cool  season  it  is  usually  burning  hot  at  mid- 
day and  freezing  cold  throughout  the  night,  there 
being  a  daily  variation  in  the  temperature  of  from 
thirty  to  fifty  degrees.  And  there  are  the  sand- 
storms which,  while  they  last,  put  a  stop  to  all 
activity  and  inflict  upon  human  flesh  a  peculiar  and 
unbelievable  torture.  Then,  when  the  rains  begin, 
the  fine  dust  of  the  plains  is  turned  into  the  thick 
viscid  mud  through  which  neither  man  nor  beast 
can  make  any  kind  of  progress.  After  that  the 
floods  come  down  the  Tigris  and  Euphrates  and 
great  areas  are  submerged,  while  unsubmerged 
areas  become  untenable  from  the  extraordinary 
seepage  of  the  tremendous  marshes  which  lie  be- 
tween the  two  rivers  and  east  of  the  Tigris.  In 
places  the  desert  bubbles  as  though  in  fermentation. 

All  the  way  through  General  Maude's  account 
of  the  operations  there  are  references  to  unfavor- 
able weather  conditions: 

270 


WITH  GENERAL  MAUDE  IN  COMMAND 

Operations  were  hampered  by  heavy  rains  which  fell  during 
the  last  week  in  December  and  the  first  week  in  January, 
flooduig  large  tracts  of  country.  .  .  . 

Where  the  ground  was  not  too  sodden  by  rain  and  floods  our 
cavalry  was  constantly  engaged  in  reconnaissances,  in  harassing 
the  enemy's  communications  west  of  the  Hai,  and  in  raids, 
capturing  stock  and  grain.  .  .  . 

The  enemy  position  in  the  Khadairi  Bend  was  a  menace  to 
our  communications  with  the  Hai,  for  in  the  event  of  a  high 
flood  he  could  inundate  portions  of  our  line  by  opening  the 
river  Bunds.  It  was,  therefore,  decided  to  clear  the  Khadairi 
Bend.  .  .  . 

Intended  operations  west  of  the  Hai  by  the  cavalry  and  a 
detachment  of  General  Marshall's  force  were  necessarily  aban- 
doned on  account  of  the  mist.  .  .  . 

On  the  10th  of  January  the  attack  was  resumed  in  foggy 
weather,  and  the  enemy  was  pressed  back  trench  by  trench, 
till  by  nightfall  he  had  fallen  back  to  his  last  position.  .  .  . 
During  these  operations  the  fighting  had  been  severe  and 
mainly  hand  to  hand,  but  the  enemy,  in  spite  of  his  tenacity, 
had  more  than  met  his  match  in  the  dash  and  resolution  of 
our  troops.  .  .  . 

The  movements  of  the  cavalry  had  meanwhile  been  restricted 
by  the  waterlogged  state  of  the  ground.  It  had  been  intended 
to  move  the  division  via  Badrah  and  Jessan  against  the  enemy's 
rear  .  .  .  and  reconnaissance  showed  that  the  proposal  was 
feasible;  but  soon  after  the  movement  had  commenced  a 
heavy  thunderstorm  burst  over  the  district,  and  the  flooding 
of  the  marsh  of  Jessan  and  its  neighborhood  rendered  progress 
impracticable  and  the  attempt  was  abandoned. 

The  most  brilliant  incident  of  the  whole  campaign 
was  the  crossing  of  the  Tigris  River  north  of  Kut 
in  the  Shumran  Bend.  This  happened  at  the  end 
of  two  months  of  terrific  fighting  and  after  the  Turks 
had  been  driven  entirely  from  the  west  bank  of  the 
river  and  had  taken  up  their  final  strongly  defensive 
position  on  the  Kut  peninsula — the  scene  of  the 
siege — and  down  the  east  bank  in  the  maze  of 

271 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

trenches  on  the  field  of  Stmnaiyat,  which  they  had 
occupied  and  had  been  engaged  in  strengthening 
for  nearly  a  year.  This  position  was  protected 
from  flank  attack  by  the  great  Suwaikieh  Marsh, 
which  lies,  miles  on  end,  within  easy  seeing  dis- 
tance eastward  from  the  river.  As  the  General  de- 
scribes it: 

The  waterlogged  state  of  the  country  and  a  high  flood  on  the 
Tigris  now  necessitated  a  pause,  but  the  time  was  usefully 
employed  in  methodical  preparation  for  the  passage  of  the 
Tigris  at  Shumran.  Positions  for  guns  and  machine-gun  crews 
to  support  the  crossing  were  selected,  approaches  and  ramps 
were  made,  and  crews  were  trained  to  man  the  pontoons.  In 
order  to  keep  our  intentions  concealed  it  was  necessary  that 
most  of  the  details,  including  the  movement  of  guns,  should  be 
carried  out  under  cover  of  night.  Opposite  Sunnaiyat,  where  it 
was  intended  to  renew  the  assault,  artillery  barrages  were 
carried  out  daily  in  order  to  induce  the  enemy  to  expect  such 
barrages  unaccompanied  by  an  assault  as  part  of  the  daily 
routine.  Minor  diversions  were  also  planned  to  deceive  the 
enemy  as  to  the  point  at  which  it  was  intended  to  cross  the 
river. 

What  General  Maude  calls  "minor  diversions" 
created  for  the  purpose  of  deceiving  the  enemy 
developed  later  on,  while  preparations  for  the  cross- 
ing were  in  progress,  into  a  strong  attack  by  Lieu- 
tenant-General  Cobbe  at  Sunnaiyat,  the  success  of 
which  so  surprised  the  Turks,  who  believed  this 
position  to  be  impregnable,  that  they  became  ut- 
terly demoralized  and  broke  into  confusion — "flee- 
ing for  dear  life  away  to  Baghdad." 

The  crossing  of  the  river  was  a  wholly  impossible 
thing — so  little  anticipated  that  the  enemy  was 
struck  with  astonishment  and  had  no  time  to  con- 
centrate effective  resistance.  A  captured  Turkish 

272 


WITH  GENERAL  MAUDE  IN  COMMAND 

officer  said  they  had  discussed  the  possibility  of 
such  a  move,  but  had  decided  that  against  such  re- 
sistance as  they  were  prepared  to  offer  "only  mad- 
men would  attempt  it." 

The  river  was  in  flood  and  was  three  hundred  and 
forty  yards  wide  at  the  point  where  the  bridge  was 
thrown  across.  This  operation  being  carried  out 
under  machine-gun  fire  which  swept  ferries  and  pon- 
toons and  inflicted  heavy  losses  on  the  British.  But, 
in  the  words  of  General  Maude,  the  men  worked 
with  "unconquerable  valor  and  determination." 

They  began  with  the  first  ferry  just  before  day- 
break on  February  23d,  and  by  4.30  P.M.  the  amaz- 
ing bridge  was  ready  for  traffic  and  the  Turkish 
army  was  in  full  retreat  toward  Baghdad,  but 
fighting  every  foot  of  the  way.  While  the  advance 
from  Kut  to  Baghdad  was  accomplished  in  only 
fifteen  days,  it  was  made  in  the  face  of  such  stub- 
born resistance  as  served  to  cover  one  field  after 
another  with  mingled  British  and  Turkish  dead. 
In  no  campaign  of  the  war  has  there  been  such  con- 
tinuous hand-to-hand  fighting. 

The  country,  a  vast  region  of  yellow  sand  and 
gray-green  marsh,  stretches  away  to  the  far  horizons 
as  level  as  a  table-top  and  without  so  much  as  a 
bit  of  scrub  brush  for  cover,  so  the  operation  was  a 
continuous  performance  of  move  forward  and  in- 
trench. Along  the  entire  distance  there  are  to-day 
the  shattered  and  shell-riven  remains  of  a  network 
of  defenses  which  tell  a  tale  beyond  imagining,  and 
in  their  stark  and  glaringly  revealed  extent  they 
demonstrate  that  modern  war  with  all  its  slaughter 
and  horror  is  largely  a  matter  of  prodigious  physical 
labor. 

273 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

But  to  return  to  the  operations.  In  the  mean 
time  the  gunboat  flotilla,  which  had  supported  the 
advance  from  the  river,  proceeded  upstream,  shell- 
ing the  enemy  in  retreat  and  coming  itself  under 
heavy  fire  from  guns  of  all  kinds  that  were  cover- 
ing the  retirement  along  the  banks. 

At  Aziziyeh,  just  half-way  to  Baghdad — the  spot 
where  the  original  fatal  decision  was  made — 
General  Maude  halted  for  reconcentration  and  re- 
organization of  his  lines  of  communication;  but 
after  a  quick  readjustment  the  pursuit  was  resumed. 
Then  for  two  days  the  armies  plunged  forward — 
eighteen  miles  one  day,  seventeen  miles  the  next — 
in  a  blinding  dust-storm  which  limited  vision  to  a 
few  yards  in  any  direction. 

The  enemy  made  a  final  strong  stand  in  a  previ- 
ously intrenched  position  at  the  Diyala  River,  and 
here  for  three  days  the  British  troops  suffered 
decimating  fire  from  concealed  machine-gun  bat- 
teries as  they  worked  in  vain  to  force  a  passage 
of  the  stream  by  ferry  and  pontoon. 

Meanwhile  General  Maude,  who  had  taken  one  of 
the  big  paddle-wheel  supply-boats  for  headquarters, 
moved  on  up  the  river  and  at  a  point  a  few  miles 
south  of  the  mouth  of  the  Diyala  threw  a  bridge 
across  and  transferred  two  infantry  divisions  and 
his  one  division  of  cavalry  to  the  west  bank,  up 
which  they  proceeded  to  march  at  a  forced  pace 
toward  Baghdad.  This  flank  movement,  threat- 
ening to  cut  the  resisting  Turkish  forces  off, 
compelled  their  immediate  flight  beyond  Bagh- 
dad, their  rear-guard  engaging  the  British  with  ad- 
mirable tenacity  and  tremendous  valor  all  the 
way. 

274 


WITH   GENERAL  MAUDE  IN   COMMAND 

It  was  a  matter  of  considerable  regret  to  most  per- 
sons concerned  that  General  Maude  made  no 
triumphal  demonstration  upon  his  arrival  at 
Baghdad.  It  was  thought  that  a  display  of  pomp 
and  a  parade  of  victory  might  have  a  properly  sub- 
duing effect  upon  the  native  population  and  serve 
to  enhance  the  local  prestige  of  the  conquering 
forces.  But  General  Maude  was  undemonstrative 
in  every  way.  In  obedience  to  his  orders  a  few 
troops  were  marched  through  the  city  from  the 
south  entrance,  arid  a  patrol  of  the  streets  was  in- 
stantly established.  But  as  for  himself,  he  ordered 
the  captain  of  his  floating  headquarters  to  bank 
in  at  the  river  wall  under  the  British  Residency,  and, 
accompanied  only  by  his  personal  staff,  he  walked 
ashore  and  up  into  the  city  as  casually  as  he  might 
have  done  had  he  been  only  a  very  tired  traveler 
arriving  under  the  most  ordinary  circumstances. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

IN   THE   SHADOW   OF   AN   ANCIENT   RUIN 

A  FTER  Kut-el-Amara — Ctesiphon,  the  last  point 
**•  of  interest  below  Baghdad. 

Ctesiphon  is  pronounced  as  it  is  spelled,  except 
that  the  C  is  silent.  In  a  philologically  ortho- 
graphic, or  whatever  it  may  be,  sense  the  C  prob- 
ably has  a  perfectly  legitimate  excuse  for  being 
there — just  as  the  "h"  has  indisputable  rights  in 
the  middle  of  Baghdad — but  it  is  slightly  in  the 
way,  and  there  are  persons  who  can  never  avoid 
stumbling  over  it. 

Yukon,  for  instance,  was  never  able  to  disre- 
gard it,  so  he  invented  a  pronunciation  all  his  own. 
I  do  not  know  exactly  what  it  was,  but  it  had  the 
C  in  it,  right  enough.  In  fact,  it  had  it  in  in  several 
places,  and  the  effect  was  rather  splendid.  It  was 
something  like  "  Cesticicisphison,"  and  he  stuck  to 
it  resolutely  in  spite  of  any  amount  of  pointed 
reference  on  the  part  of  others  to  "Tesifon"  in  its 
simplest  form. 

There  is  nothing  at  Ctesiphon  now — nothing  but 
a  wide  waste  of  knobby  desert,  the  mounded  grave- 
yard of  a  buried  city  and  the  lone,  marvelous  arch 
which  has  stood  through  so  many  centuries,  offering 
mute,  compelling  testimony  to  the  grandeur  of  the 

276 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  AN  ANCIENT  RUIN 

Eastern  Empire  destined  to  fall  before  the  onrush 
of  barbarian  Arab  peoples,  newly  inspired  by  the 
Moslem  faith  and  fired  with  fanatic  zeal. 

But  on  the  banks  of  the  River  Tigris  the  great 
arch  of  Ctesiphon  is  a  comparatively  modern  struct- 
ure. It  belongs  to  the  Christian  era,  and  on  the 
banks  of  the  River  Tigris  one  begins  to  pronounce 
in  a  familiar  way  names  that  were  on  the  tongues  of 
men  five  thousand  years  ago. 

The  mounds  of  the  dead  cities  in  the  midst  of  the 
desolation  have  not  revealed  the  story  of  the  infancy 
of  the  human  race,  but  they  have  revealed  one  of  the 
main  sources  of  the  cultural  stream  upon  which 
humanity  has  drifted  and,  it  may  be,  is  drifting 
always  toward  broader  and  more  tranquil  depths. 
Even  the  age  of  Sargon — the  twenty-eighth  century 
B.C. — seems  on  the  banks  of  the  Tigris  strangely 
recent. 

"Sargon  was  the  first  great  leader  in  the  history 
of  the  Semitic  race,  and  he  was  the  first  ruler  to 
build  up  a  great  nation  in  western  Asia,  reaching 
from  Elam  to  the  Mediterranean  and  far  up  the 
Two  Rivers  northward.  His  splendid  conquests 
made  an  impression  upon  the  Tigris-Euphrates 
world  which  never  faded.  ..."  So  says  Breasted, 
in  his  Ancient  Times. 

But  in  Sargon's  time  the  legends  of  the  people 
with  regard  to  the  world's  beginning  were  the 
legends  we  revere  to-day,  and  they  were  as  dimly 
remote  to  them  as  they  are  to  us.  Their  gods  were 
gods  of  the  elements. 

About  the  twenty-second  century  B.C.  a  tribe  of 
Semitic  Amorites  crossed  over  from  the  Mediter- 
ranean coast  lands  and  seized  what  Breasted 
19  277 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

describes  as  "the  little  town  of  Babylon,  which  was 
at  that  time  an  obscure  village  ..."  and  one  hun- 
dred years  later  there  rose  in  this  tribe  a  great  king. 
His  name  was  Hammurapi,  and  it  was  he  who  first 
made  Babylon  mistress  of  the  then  world  and  welded 
together  a  mighty  kingdom  under  the  name  of 
Babylonia. 

This  was  fourteen  centuries  before  Nebuchad- 
nezzar was  born,  yet  archeological  research  has 
brought  up  out  of  the  buried  cities  of  the  Babylonian 
plain  a  written  record  of  Hammurapi's  reign  so 
clear  and  so  detailed  that  we  can  follow  the  life  of  the 
wise  and  mighty  old  monarch  almost  day  by  day. 

The  Arch  of  Ctesiphon  an  ancient  ruin?  No,  not 
at  all! 

Up  and  down  and  back  and  forth  over  the  face  of 
the  known  world  the  human  race  moved  in  in- 
numerable waves  and  distinct  divisions,  while  to  the 
east  of  Babylonia  those  great  tribes  of  Aryan 
origin,  the  Medes  and  the  Persians,  advanced  to 
place  and  power. 

These  people  already  had  a  religion.  They  wor- 
shiped fire  as  the  truest  manifestation  of  an  Al- 
mighty Being,  and  they  had  evolved  a  code  of 
morals  quite  as  fine  in  many  ways  as  any  code  that 
has  followed  it. 

But  came  among  them  between  the  thirteenth 
and  tenth  centuries  B.C.  a  great  mystic  and  inter- 
preter— Zoroaster — who  brought  order  out  of  the 
chaos  of  religious  fantasies  and  founded  a  splendid 
faith  which  lives  to-day,  its  original  nobility  modi- 
fied but  little  by  the  superstitious  and  philosophical 
accumulations  of  the  centuries.  This  faith  is 

278 


THE   ARCH    OF   CTESIPHON" 


THE   TOMB    OF   EZRA 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  AN  ANCIENT  RUIN 

founded  on  a  definite  distinction  between  right  and 
wrong  and  assumes  the  existence  of  two  great  in- 
fluencing spiritual  powers;  one — Ahuramazda — the 
Lord  of  Right  and  Wisdom;  the  other — Ahriman — 
the  Spirit  of  Darkness  and  Evil.  Between  them, 
as  a  kind  of  intermediary  deity,  stands  Mithras,  the 
Angel  of  Light. 

I  do  not  know  if  offerings  of  evil  things  to  the 
Spirit  of  Evil  are  made  by  modern  Zoroastrians  as 
they  were  by  the  Zoroastrians  of  other  ages,  but  one 
does  know  that  from  many  a  fire  altar  to-day 
Mithras  carries  upward  from  the  minds  of  men 
flames  of  pure  thought  and  exalted  prayer  to  the 
throne  of  Ahuramazda. 

Who  can  estimate  the  power  of  a  single  life?  Of  Zoroaster 
we  do  not  know  the  true  name,  nor  when  he  lived,  nor  where 
he  lived,  nor  exactly  what  he  taught.  But  the  current  from 
that  fountain  has  flowed  on  for  thousands  of  years,  fertilizing 
the  souls  of  men  out  of  its  hidden  sources  and  helping  on  by 
the  decree  of  Divine  Providence,  the  ultimate  triumph  of  good 
over  evil,  of  right  over  wrong.1 

The  stars  of  peoples  ascended  in  this  land,  rose 
to  their  zenith,  and  declined.  A  long  line  of 
Assyrian  emperors  marches  across  the  pages  of  his- 
tory to  battle  chants  and  the  clank  and  clash  of  the 
accoutrements  of  war;  Sennacherib  passes  proudly 
by  to  gaze  in  disdain  upon  the  cities  and  palaces  of 
his  predecessors  and  to  build  arrogant  Nineveh, 
from  whose  mighty  walls  he  gazes  east  and  west 
across  a  world  within  his  grasp. 

Came  an  era  when  Babylonia  was  no  longer 
Babylonia,  but  Chaldea,  with  Nebuchadnezzar  em- 

1  Ten  Great  Religions,  by  James  Freeman  Clarke. 
279 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

barked  upon  a  career  of  such  magnificence  and 
power  that  after  twenty-five  centuries  humanity 
still  stands  agape  before  conjured-up  visions  of  his 
splendor.  The  Chaldeans,  allying  themselves  with 
the  Median  hosts,  march  against  the  walls  of 
Nineveh;  and  two  centuries  later  Xenophon  with 
his  Greek  legions  passes  by  and  gazes  in  astonish- 
ment upon  the  mounds  of  fluted  sand  which  even 
then  covered  the  seats  of  the  once  mighty  Assyrians 
as  to-day  the  sand  mounds  cover  the  cities  on  the 
Babylonian  plain. 

Then  passes  Cyrus,  king  of  Persia,  worshiping 
Ahuramazda  and  hurling  his  serried  hosts  against 
the  Lydians;  and  finally  against  the  walls  of 
Babylon — Cyrus  freeing  the  Children  of  Israel  and 
commanding  that  the  temple  of  the  Israelitish  God 
at  Jerusalem  be  rebuilt,  while  bowing  himself  before 
his  altars  of  fire. 

Cambyses,  son  of  Cyrus,  conquers  Egypt  and 
the  Persian  Empire  stretches  from  Elam  to  the 
sands  of  the  Sahara.  After  whom  Darius,  Xerxes, 
and  Artaxerxes;  Xerxes  carving  on  the  wall  of  the 
great  fire  temple  at  Persepolis: 

Ahuramazda  is  a  mighty  god  who  has  created  the  earth  and 
heaven  and  men;  who  has  given  glory  to  men;  who  has  made 
Xerxes  King,  the  ruler  of  many.  I,  Xerxes,  King  of  Kings,  King 
of  the  earth  near  and  far,  sen  of  Darius  an  Achcemenid.  What 
I  have  done  here  and  what  I  have  done  elsewhere,  I  have  done  by 
the  grace  of  Ahuramazda. 

Looking  down  across  thirty  miles  of  desert  to  the 
Pusht-i-Kuh,  a  range  of  Persian  mountains  that 
lies  like  a  great,  long,  rugged  opal  against  the 
eastern  horizon,  one  sees  with  the  mind's  eye  the 

280 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  AN  ANCIENT  RUIN 

ruins  of  Susa — biblical  Shushan — where  in  his 
palace  Ahasueras,  son  of  Xerxes,  "showed  the 
riches  of  his  glorious  kingdom  and  the  honor  of  his 
excellent  majesty  many  days"  and  "made  a  feast 
unto  all  the  people  that  were  present  in  Shushan 
the  palace,  both  unto  great  and  small,  seven  days 
in  the  court  of  the  garden  of  the  king's  palace: 

"Where  were  white,  green  and  blue  hangings, 
fastened  with  cords  of  fine  linen  and  purple  to  silver 
rings  and  pillars  of  marble.  .  .  ." 

Shushan — where  the  brave  and  beautiful  Esther 
got  Haman  hanged  so  high,  and  where  "Mordecai 
went  out  from  the  presence  of  the  king  in  royal 
apparel  of  blue  and  white  and  with  a  great  crown 
of  gold,  and  with  a  garment  of  fine  linen  and 
purple"  to  smite  the  enemies  of  the  Jews. 

It  was  a  colorful  age! 

Then  Alexander,  the  great  Macedonian,  son  of 
that  Philip  against  whom  Demosthenes  launched 
his  "philippics."  WTiat  names  go  hurtling  through 
one's  thoughts! 

Alexander  the  Great  marches  down  across  Asia 
Minor,  through  the  Cilician  Gates  and  along  the 
coast  of  the  Mediterranean,  to  meet  the  Persian 
forces  under  the  third  Darius  and  to  hurl  them  back 
across  the  plain  and  the  River  Euphrates;  to  refuse 
the  better  half  of  the  Persian  Empire,  and  then  to 
march  on  and  on,  conquering  the  world  and  sighing 
for  more  worlds  to  conquer.  Only  in  the  end  to 
turn  back  from  the  far  places  to  Babylon — which  was 
itself  a  far  place  to  the  exalted  Macedonian — and  to 
die  there  in  the  palace  of  the  Babylonian  kings ! 

He  had  conquered  the  world,  and  his  heirs  were 

281 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

his  Macedonian  generals.  One  of  these,  Seleucus, 
takes  possession  of  the  Land  of  the  Two  Rivers  and 
the  rich  conquered  territories  of  the  Mediterranean 
coast.  He  founds  the  city  of  Antioch,  and  on  the 
west  bank  of  the  Tigris,  on  the  shortest  highway 
between  the  two  rivers  and  within  a  day's  easy 
march  of  Babylon,  he  causes  to  be  built  the  city  of 
Seleucia. 

The  city  of  Seleucia!  It  lies  directly  across  the 
river  from  the  Arch  of  Ctesiphon — a  great  undulat- 
ing mound  of  sand,  like  the  other  mounds.  Nobody 
has  yet  delved  into  it  for  historic  records  and  treas- 
ure. But  perhaps  it  is  not  worth  while.  As  ruins 
go  it  is  such  a  modern  ruin ! 

Centuries  pass;  Rome  rises  to  pre-eminence  and 
declines,  while  the  fires  that  Zoroaster  kindled  in  the 
hearts  of  the  Persian  peoples  keep  alive  in  them  a 
consciousness  of  race  and  a  will  to  live. 

It  was  in  the  third  century  of  the  Christian  era 
that  the  family  of  Sassanid  arose  to  the  east  of  the 
Mesopotamian  rivers  and,  by  an  inspired  revival 
of  patriotism  among  the  Persian  tribes,  succeeded 
in  establishing  the  Sassanian  Empire. 

For  a  capital  the  Sassanian  kings  built  the  city 
of  Ctesiphon  on  the  forever  strategically  valuable 
shortest  highway  between  the  two  rivers. 

The  Sassanids  were  mighty,  and  the  Sassanian 
Empire  continued  to  grow  in  might,  the  Oriental 
splendor  of  its  court  having  been  beyond  the  powers 
of  men  to  describe. 

The  Sassanid  emperors  were  Sun-gods,  worshiping 
Ahuramazda  as  that  deity's  representatives  upon 
earth.  They  realized  in  their  forms  and  ceremonials 

282 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  AN  ANCIENT  RUIN 

what  Alexander  had  designed  for  himself,  and  noth- 
ing could  surpass  the  magnificence  and  the  color  of 
the  pageant  of  their  lives. 

The  Arch  of  Ctesiphon  is  all  that  is  left  of  the 
audience-hall  of  the  Emperor  Khusrau.  It  dates 
from  about  the  sixth  century.  It  is  one  of  the 
largest  and  most  extraordinary  ruins  in  the  world 
and  is  so  massively  and  so  amazingly  built  that  one 
looks  round  and  about  over  the  naked  desert  in  the 
midst  of  which  it  stands  and  wonders  how  a  city 
whose  builders  were  so  great  could  possibly  disap- 
pear from  the  face  of  the  earth. 

The  arch  itself  was  the  throne-chamber,  and  on 
the  other  side  of  it  there  was  another  tremendous 
wing  like  the  one  which  still  survives.  The  arch, 
it  is  supposed,  was  always  open  at  one  end,  as  it  is 
to-day,  and  across  it,  covering  its  whole  vast  height 
and  breadth,  was  a  jeweled  tapestry.  On  this 
tapestry  was  worked  a  wonderful  landscape  in 
precious  stones. 

The  Sassanian  Empire  was  overthrown  in  the 
middle  of  the  seventh  century  by  the  irresistible 
cohorts  of  the  Kaliphs,  and  Baghdad,  in  its  turn, 
came  to  be  founded  as  a  great  capital  in  the  Cradle 
of  the  World. 

This  war  closes  one's  mind  to  old  historic  vision. 
It  dwarfs  the  very  ghosts  of  world  conquerors  that 
have  loomed  so  large  in  the  background  of  the 
world's  advancing  life,  and  sets  a  gulf  between 
itself  and  other  wars  the  world  has  seen  across 
which  no  one  can  get  a  just  perspective. 

The  British  troops  on  the  way  to  Baghdad  with 
General  Maude  knew  Ctesiphon  principally  as  the 

283 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

field  of  General  Townshend's  disaster,  and  they 
knew,  too,  I  suppose,  that  there  was  a  ruin  there — 
even  a  mighty  ruin.  But  I  doubt  if  many  of  them 
had  a  mental  vision  of  it  that  was  not  wholly  over- 
whelmed by  the  reality. 

Some  of  them,  it  is  said,  regarded  it  chiefly  as  a 
much-too-valuable  post  of  observation  for  the 
enemy  and  wanted  to  shell  it.  It  is  visible  from 
many  miles  away  down-river  and  across  the  plain, 
and  from  its  top  the  view  would  be  unobstructed  as, 
far  as  the  strongest  glass  could  reach.  But  they 
were  forbidden  to  touch  it,  and  after  the  armies  had 
passed,  the  new  British  masters  of  the  immediate  des- 
tinies of  the  land  and  its  peoples  caused  to  have  built 
all  round  it  a  barbed-wire  fence,  and  notices  were 
posted  to  explain  to  the  people  the  great  historic 
value  of  the  old  monument  and  to  ask  them  to  give 
up  their  age-old  practice  of  taking  bricks  out  of 
it  for  modern  building  purposes.  It  is  easy  to 
believe  that  Ctesiphon  was  quarried  to  build 
Baghdad  as  the  Rome  of  the  Csesars  was  quarried 
to  build  the  commonplace  Rome  of  later  days. 
And  nothing  in  Rome  very  greatly  surpasses  in 
magnificence  of  construction  this  wide-flung  and 
wholly  self-supporting  arch. 

But  we  must  get  on  now.  We  are  to  lunch  with 
the  British  Army  Commander  in  the  City  of  the 
Kaliphs.  The  gentlemen  with  whom  I  traveled 
were  greatly  concerned  lest  I  should  be  expecting 
too  much.  They  wanted  to  shield  me  from  in- 
evitable disappointment. 

"Baghdad  is  just  worse  than  nothing,"  they  said. 
"It's  a  rotten  hole!" 

284 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  AN  ANCIENT  RUIN 

If  you  were  on  your  way  to  Baghdad  you  natu- 
rally would  be  expecting  too  much.  You  would  be 
expecting  to  see  something,  at  least,  that  would 
offer  to  your  mind  a  suggestion  of  the  domed  and 
minareted  Moslem  city  of  Oriental  story. 

But  the  flat-roofed  and  mud-colored  huddle  of 
human  habitations  sprawling  along  the  high  wall 
which  lines  the  great  sweeping  curve  of  the  palm- 
fringed  river  would  appeal  to  you  at  once  as  being 
curiously  in  harmony  with  the  moods  of  the  country 
you  had  learned  on  your  slow  journey  up-river  to 
know  so  well  in  its  desolate  but  wonderfully  sun- 
lit raggedness. 

There  are  mosques,  of  course,  with  minarets 
aplenty,  but  they  are  all  quite  ordinary;  rather 
cheap,  in  fact.  All  but  one.  From  far  down  the 
river  you  look  across  a  wide  stretch  of  open  desert 
and  see,  hovering  away  off  in  a  blue  haze  green- 
edged  with  the  green  of  palm-trees,  the  great  round 
golden  dome  and  the  many  slender  shafts  that  rise 
above  the  mosque  of  Kazhi-main.  And  if  you 
know  no  more  than  you  ought  to  know  you  will 
take  this  vision  for  a  first  glimpse  of  Baghdad  and 
be  wholly  satisfied.  But  Kazhi-main  is  on  the 
west  bank  of  the  river,  four  miles  above  Baghdad, 
and  before  the  city  comes  into  view  it  has  dis- 
appeared altogether  from  your  range  of  vision. 

When  General  Maude  took  Baghdad  there  came 
steaming  up  behind  his  floating  headquarters  the 
battle-scarred  fleet  of  monitors  and  small  river  gun- 
boats and  a  long  line  of  supply-boats  of  various 
kinds.  The  S-l,  with  General  MacMunn  and  his 
staff  aboard  and  with  Yukon  at  her  wheel,  was 
among  the  first  to  arrive,  the  General  having  come 

285 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

up  directly  behind  the  army  with  fifty  boats 
heavily  laden  with  supplies  for  the  immediate  es- 
tablishment of  an  advanced  base. 

As  we  rounded  the  last  great  bend  which  brings 
Baghdad  into  view  they  told  me  how  it  had  seemed 
to  them  then.  Not  any  one  of  them,  the  skipper 
included,  had  ever  been  there  before,  and  they  said 
the  thrill  of  rounding  one  wide  curve  of  the  river 
after  another,  knowing  nothing  of  what  lay  beyond 
the  next,  and  of  coming  at  last  full  upon  the  town 
which  had  been  so  long  the  British  objective  and 
for  which  they  had  paid  such  a  fearful  price,  was 
overwhelming. 

The  high  banks  were  black  with  cheering  throngs; 
there  were  people  everywhere — on  the  housetops, 
in  every  window  and  balcony,  lining  the  river  walls. 
Their  welcome  was  genuine.  When  the  Turks 
left,  anarchy  was  let  loose  in  the  city,  and  at  the 
moment  the  British  entered  chaos  reigned,  while 
bands  of  murderous  Arabs  were  looting  the  bazaars 
and  scattering  terror  in  every  highway  and  byway. 
This  state  of  affairs  lasted  just  as  long  as  it  took 
British  patrols  to  march  through  the  streets  and  no 
longer,  while  a  few  subsequent  hangings  and  im- 
prisonments, and  the  excellent  conduct  of  the 
British  troops,  served  to  restore  almost  at  once 
the  complete  confidence  and  serenity  of  the  people. 
British  occupation  of  Baghdad  was  regretted  by 
nobody  but  the  defeated  Turks  and  the  offscourings 
of  Arabian  tribes  who  were  halted  in  their  criminal 
pursuits  by  the  immediate  establishment  of  British 
law  and  order. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE   MAN   OF   MESOPOTAMIA 

SO  I  did  get  to  Baghdad,  after  all! 
We  anchored  a  short  distance  off  the  bank 
in  front  of  General  Headquarters,  and  after  a  little 
while  a  launch  came  out  to  get  me  and  took  me 
down-river  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  to  the  landing 
at  the  Army  Commander's  house.  He  and  his  two 
A.  D.  C/s  were  waiting  on  the  little  pontoon 
platform  to  receive  me,  and  as  he  helped  me  ashore 
he  said: 

"Well,  here  you  are !  That's  good !  Come  along 
in  now  and  let's  have  some  lunch." 

That  was  all.  It  was  as  though  I  had  been  away 
for  a  few  days  and  had  just  returned.  But  it  was 
peculiarly  characteristic  of  the  man.  His  thoughts 
ran  in  clean-cut  grooves  and  his  besetting  weakness 
was  punctuality.  It  was  a  quarter  past  one  o'clock 
and  his  luncheon-hour  was  one.  He  had  waited  for 
me  an  unprecedented  fifteen  minutes! 

The  house,  at  the  edge  of  the  high  river  wall  and 
reached  at  low  water  by  a  flight  of  wooden  and 
very  rickety  steps,  was  most  interesting.  It  was 
bristlingly  historic,  of  course,  having  been  the  home 
of  two  German-Turkish  commanders  before  General 

287 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

Maude  took  possession  of  it.  General  von  der 
Goltz  Pasha  died  in  it — of  cholera,  they  say — and 
it  was  the  residence  of  Khalil  Pasha,  who  com- 
manded the  Turkish  forces  while  Baghdad  was 
Turkish  headquarters. 

We  walked  across  a  terrace  on  the  river-bank 
and  entered  the  dining-room,  where  everything  was 
in  readiness  for  luncheon.  This  room,  a  few  feet 
below  the  ground-level  of  the  house,  had  a  mud- 
brick  floor,  and  its  bare  walls  were  painted  a  fear- 
ful saffron  hue,  which  seemed  to  have  had  some 
intention  of  being  yellow. 

Like  all  other  residences  in  Mesopotamia,  the 
house  was  built  round  a  wide,  paved  court,  and  the 
living-rooms  opened  on  a  second-floor  balcony  on 
the  inside.  It  was  not  a  particularly  comfortable 
house  and  was  about  as  elaborate  in  its  furnishings 
as  a  camp  in  the  desert.  General  Maude  occupied 
the  room  in  which  Von  der  Goltz  died  and  seemed 
rather  pleased  with  the  idea  of  doing  so.  Then  there 
was  the  western  terrace,  with  a  vineless  arbor  built 
over  its  railing,  from  which  one  got  a  magnificent 
view  up  and  down  the  wide  sweep  of  the  river.  But 
since  the  whole  river  side  of  the  house  had  to  be 
screened  in  with  canvas  on  account  of  the  pitiless 
terrific  sun,  the  terrace  was  not  of  much  use. 

There  were  always  impressive-looking  sentries 
posted  on  it  and  also  in  the  corridor  outside  the 
General's  room;  while  on  the  street  side  there  was 
always  an  adequate  guard.  There  had  been  fre- 
quent plots  to  assassinate  General  Maude,  and 
only  a  day  or  two  before  I  arrived  a  perfectly  ar- 
ranged scheme  had  been  uncovered  by  the  secret 
service,  with  the  result  that  the  schemers  got  into 

288 


THE  MAN  OF  MESOPOTAMIA 

very  serious  difficulties  and  the  guard  surrounding 
him  was  strengthened. 

As  for  my  own  accommodations,  General  Maude 
had  written  that  he  was  afraid  I  should  be  very 
uncomfortable,  and  had  then  proceeded  to  have 
prepared  for  me  quarters  so  entirely  comfortable 
that  I  felt  a  definite  sense  of  embarrassment  when 
I  walked  into  them.  It  didn't  seem  quite  right, 
somehow,  that  in  such  a  place  somebody's  time 
should  have  been  wasted  to  make  such  provision 
for  me. 

After  luncheon  the  General  took  me  himself  to 
my  rooms  and  made  a  quite  thorough  investigation 
to  see  that  everything  was  in  order. 

"This  is  really  no  place  for  a  lady!"  he  said. 
"But  we've  fixed  things  up  a  bit — and  don't  you 
go  doing  without  anything  we  can  possibly  turn 
up  for  you." 

On  my  packing-box  dressing-table,  with  a  mot- 
tled mirror  propped  up  on  it,  and  on  the  desk  in 
my  sitting-room,  there  were  violets.  Violets  in 
mud-colored  and  dust-enshrouded  Baghdad!  They 
were  small  single  ones  like  "  Johnny-jump-ups,"  but 
they  were  fresh  as  morning  dew.  I  had  to  exclaim 
about  them,  of  course,  and  then  the  General  told 
me  how  he  came  by  them.  He  said  that  so  far  as 
he  knew  there  was  only  one  bed  of  violets  in  all 
Mesopotamia. 

"Somebody  must  have  told  the  chap  who  owns  it 
that  I  like  violets,"  he  added,  "so  he  sends  me 
some  every  day.  Always  have  a  little  bunch  of 
them  on  my  desk  at  G.  H.  Q.  Nice,  aren't  they?" 

I  write  all  this  principally  because  by  doing  so 
I  am  able  to  throw  a  brief  light  on  a  phase  of  my 

289 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

host's  character  with  which  few  persons  seemed  to 
be  familiar.  I  had  been  told  that  he  was  casual  to 
the  point  of  indifference  in  his  attitude  toward 
everything  but  his  work,  and  that  I  was  likely  to 
find  him  "difficult."  With  the  grave  responsi- 
bilities of  a  war  zone  weighing  upon  him,  one  would 
hardly  expect  a  man  to  be  anything  but  casual 
toward  unimportant  persons  and  affairs,  but  General 
Maude  was  as  genial  and  kindly  a  host  as  I  should 
have  expected  him  to  be  under  the  most  conven- 
tional circumstances. 

He  was  a  very  impressive  figure  of  a  man.  He 
was  six  feet  three  inches  tall,  and  any  one  would 
have  known  he  was  a  soldier,  whether  he  was  in 
uniform  or  not.  His  innate  kindliness  expressed 
itself  in  a  gleam  of  humor  that  was  hardly  ever 
absent  from  his  eyes,  and  he  was  rather  fascinating 
when  he  talked,  because  of  a  slow  drawl  in  his 
speech  and  a  vein  of  quiet  fun  peculiarly  his  own. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  war  General  Maude  com- 
manded a  brigade  in  France  and  was  severely 
wounded.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  there  was  a  bullet 
lodged  in  his  back  where  the  surgeons  could  not 
get  at  it,  and  it  gave  him  trouble  always.  He  told 
me  about  this  himself  and  about  how,  with  one  leg 
temporarily  paralyzed,  he  thought  for  a  long  time 
that  he  was  done  for.  For  services  in  France  he 
was  made  a  major-general,  and  when  he  recovered 
from  his  wounds  he  was  sent  to  command  the 
Thirteenth  Division  at  Gallipoli.  After  the  evacu- 
ation of  Gallipoli  he  brought  this  division  to  Meso- 
potamia and  commanded  it  in  all  the  subsequent 
attempts  to  relieve  General  Townshend  at  Kut. 

290 


THE  MAN  OF  MESOPOTAMIA 

After  Townshend's  surrender  he  was  appointed  to 
command  the  Tigris  Corps  and  later  succeeded  to 
the  full  command  of  the  Mesopotamian  forces, 
after  which  the  uninterrupted  success  of  his  career 
won  for  him  the  enviable  title  "Maude  the  ever- 
victorious." 

He  was  specially  promoted  to  be  a  lieutenant- 
general  for  his  services  in  Mesopotamia  and  was 
made  a  Knight  Commander  of  the  Bath.  He  was 
also  a  Companion  of  St.  Michael  and  St.  George 
and  had  a  D.  S.  O.  for  services  in  the  South  African 
War.  The  French  government  made  him  a  Com- 
mander of  the  Legion  of  Honor. 

Few  persons  ever  referred  to  "General  Maude." 
It  was  always  "the  Army  Commander."  And  the 
atmosphere  of  command  with  which  he  managed 
to  envelop  himself  was  extraordinary.  One  felt 
the  tremendous  personal  influence  of  the  man. 
He  was  in  every  man's  mind — the  Army  Com- 
mander; on  every  man's  tongue — the  Army  Com- 
mander; a  figure  so  potent  that  to  think  of  the 
Mesopotamian  Expeditionary  Force  without  his 
calm  intelligence  behind  it,  directing  it  in  its  ever- 
victorious  progress,  was  not  possible.  He  was  pre- 
eminently the  Man  of  Mesopotamia. 

He  worked  literally  all  the  time  he  was  awake; 
getting  up  every  morning  at  five  o'clock  and  putting 
in  two  hours  before  breakfast  looking  over  papers 
and  dictating  telegrams. 

He  breakfasted  at  seven  and  was  always  in  his 
office  at  headquarters  by  eight  o'clock.  He  had  a 
habit  of  remarking  quite  frequently  that  in  war 
time  was  an  element  of  first  importance,  and  the 

291 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

greatest  offense  any  one  could  commit  was  to  waste 
a  moment  of  his  carefully  planned  day  by  being 
late  for  an  appointment  with  him.  The  man  who 
was  not  punctual  to  the  minute  could  not  hope 
to  enjoy  his  confidence.  He  made  every  detail  of 
his  operations  his  personal  business  and  delegated 
unshared  responsibility  to  nobody.  Yet  despite 
all  this  he  found  time  to  think  of  and  to  attend  to 
all  manner  of  small  and  unimportant  things  and  to 
take  an  active  interest  in  the  life  of  the  community 
and  in  the  affairs  of  everybody  around  him.  If 
he  had  known  anything  at  all  about  the  fine  arts  of 
indifference  and  of  getting  other  people  to  do  his 
work  he  would  have  been  an  unqualifiedly  great 
man. 

His  choice  of  a  way  to  do  anything  was  always  the 
quickest  way  and  he/  did  not  know  what  fear  was. 
He  hated  automobiles  and  traveled  to  and  from  his 
battle-lines  by  aeroplane.  For  trips  up  and  down 
the  river-front  he  used  a  glisseur,  the  swiftest  thing 
afloat. 

The  attitude  of  the  men  of  his  personal  staff 
was  like  nothing  else  I  ever  encountered.  They 
were  devoted  to  him  without  question,  and  when 
he  was  not  present  they  expressed  their  concern 
for  his  welfare  with  the  utmost  freedom.  But  they 
had  perhaps  a  too  profound  respect  for  him  to 
serve  to  the  best  ends  the  uses  of  intimate  associa- 
tion, and  they  were  never  able  in  his  presence  to  be 
anything  but  militarily  correct. 

General  MacMunn's  A.  D.  C.  was  forever  "rag- 
ging" him  with  regard  to  measures  for  his  own 
safety  and  physical  welfare,  and  I  had  come  to  look 
upon  good-natured  scolding  as  among  the  definite 

292 


THE  MAN  OF  MESOPOTAMIA 

duties  of  an  A.  D.  C.  But  General  Maude  would 
have  considered  advice  touching  his  individual 
habits  an  unwarranted  interference.  In  my  priv- 
ileged impudence  and  blissful  ignorance  of  his 
character  I  told  him  one  day  that  I  thought  a  man 
in  his  position  who  did  not  regard  his  health  as  a 
matter  of  primary  concern  was  guilty  of  a  kind 
of  treason  for  which  some  form  of  punishment 
should  be  provided. 

When  any  one  made  so  bold  as  to  protest  against 
his  using  an  aeroplane  he  always  referred  to  a 
friend  of  his  who  "fell  down  a  little  stairway  and 
died  of  a  broken  leg." 

He  was  going  out  to  Ramadie  one  day — head- 
quarters on  his  western  line — and  one  of  his 
A.  D.  C.'s  asked  if  he  would  not  please  have  a 
message  sent  through  to  them  as  soon  as  he  arrived. 

"I  will  not,"  he  replied.  "Why  should  I?  If  I 
don't  get  there  they  will  probably  let  you  know 
sooner  or  later.  Then  you  might  send  out  and 
gather  up  the  pieces." 

That  first  afternoon,  after  he  had  looked  my 
quarters  over  and  I  had  tried  to  tell  him  how 
grateful  I  was  to  him  and  how  much  I  appreciated 
the  privilege  of  being  in  Mesopotamia,  he  asked 
what  in  particular  I  thought  I  wanted  to  do. 

"I  want  to  do  everything  you  will  permit  me  to 
do,"  I  replied. 

"Yes,  of  course,"  he  drawled,  in  his  delightful 
way,  "but  what,  for  instance?" 

"May  I  go  to  the  front?" 

"My  dear  lady,  you  are  at  the  front." 

"Yes,  I  know,  but  may  I  go  out  to  the  lines?" 

"You  may — wherever  you  like.     What  else?" 

20  293 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

"May  I  go  to  Babylon?" 

"No,  that,  I'm  sorry  to  say,  you  may  not  do.  I 
shall  not  knowingly  take  a  risk  of  having  you  killed, 
you  know,  and  the  desert  between  here  and  Babylon 
is  infested  with  hostile  Arabs." 

"Wouldn't  a  couple  of  armored  motor-cars  be  all 
right?" 

"They  might  be  and  again  they  might  not. 
Motor-cars  in  the  desert  are  not  invariably  reliable. 
I  nearly  lost  a  bishop  in  one  of  them  last  week. 
He  thought  he  had  to  see  Babylon  before  his  educa- 
tion would  be  complete,  and  the  Arabs  got  after 
him.  There  was  quite  a  party,  and  a  valuable 
party,  too.  They  had  to  make  a  run  for  it — and 
anything  might  have  happened  to  the  car,  you 
know." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

ROUND     ABOUT     TOWN 

OUR  little  household  for  the  time  being  con- 
sisted of  the  Army  Commander,  his  military 
secretary,  his  two  A.  D.  C/s,  and  my  always-trying- 
to-be-inconspicuous  self. 

When  I  arrived  General  Maude  more  or  less 
turned  me  over  to  his  aides.  Or  did  he  turn  the 
aides  over  to  me?  In  any  case,  while  I  was  his 
guest  he  deprived  himself  constantly  of  the  services 
of  first  one  and  then  the  other,  each  taking  his 
turn  in  accompanying  me  here,  there,  and  every- 
where— wherever  I  wanted  to  go. 

I  was  afraid,  in  the  beginning,  that  to  take  them 
away  from  their  regular  duties  was  to  make  my- 
self a  good  deal  of  a  nuisance,  but  I  soon  learned 
that  I  was  a  kind  of  godsend  to  a  couple  of  earnest 
but  average  young  men  who  had  done  nothing 
for  one  solid  year  but  attend  to  business.  The 
only  other  visitor  they  had  ever  had  to  take  care 
of  was  the  bishop  whose  adventure  had  made  it 
impossible  for  me  to  go  to  Babylon. 

Naturally  the  bishop's  chief  interest  in  life  was 
the  spiritual  welfare  of  everybody  concerned.  All 
the  bravery  and  fidelity  in  this  war  is  not  monopo- 
lized by  soldiers!  I  have  read  what  he  wrote  about 

295 


his  visit  and  I  think  the  task  of  accompanying  him 
could  hardly  have  been  regarded  by  any  one  as  a 
release  from  the  exactions  of  laborious  and  method- 
ical duty.  He  began  each  day  with  a  dedication 
somewhere  and  ended  it  with  a  confirmation,  having 
filled  in  the  intervening  hours  with  services  of 
various  kinds  and  with  painstaking  inspections  of 
all  the  chapels,  hospitals,  and  Y.  M.  C.  A.  quarters 
within  a  radius  of  a  day's  toilsome  round.  And 
he  made  hay  while  the  sun  shone  at  the  rate  of 
about  one  hundred  and  fifteen  degrees  even  in  the 
shade  of  the  few  sheltering  palms.  But  I  am  not 
laughing  at  him,  of  course.  I  am  laughing  at  the 
young  A.  D.  C.  who  had  to  keep  up  with  him. 
The  only  thing  I  have  personally  against  him  is  that 
trip  to  Babylon! 

Most  of  the  things  the  aides  showed  me  they 
saw  for  the  first  time  with  me,  and  they  were  as  keen 
about  it  all  as  I  could  possibly  be,  though  they  had 
been  in  Baghdad  nearly  a  year.  The  Army  Com- 
mander bent  his  brows  in  mock  severity  and 
threatened  to  count  against  them  as  leave  all  the 
time  they  spent  with  me,  but  he,  too,  was  interested. 
To  my  surprise,  Baghdad  as  a  place  to  be  visited 
was  more  or  less  a  closed  book  to  him  as  well  as 
to  the  rest  of  us,  and  after  spending  the  morning 
on  the  big  job  at  headquarters  he  came  home  to 
luncheon  each  day  with  a  demand  that  we  tell 
him  all  about  our  doings. 

Baghdad  as  the  City  of  the  Kaliphs  and  of 
Harun-al-Rashid's  benevolent  strolls  is  absorbingly 
interesting,  to  be  sure,  but  I  was  far  more  interested 
in  observing  the  effects  of  modern  events  and  of  the 

296 


ROUND  ABOUT  TOWN 

occupation  of  the  historic  city  by  a  British  army. 
If  you  should  be  carried  by  aeroplane  from  a  far 
place  and  dropped  down  bound  and  blindfolded 
into  the  center  of  Baghdad  to-day,  turned  round 
three  or  four  times  and  then  set  free,  you  would 
open  your  eyes,  look  about  you,  and  say: 

"Well,  I  don't  know  what  town  this  is,  but  what- 
ever it  is  the  Germans  beat  me  to  it!" 

The  last  thing  the  commander  of  the  Turkish 
forces  in  Mesopotamia  did  before  he  gave  up  the 
fight  to  hold  Baghdad  was  to  send  a  polite  mes- 
sage across  to  General  Maude  asking  him  to 
refrain  from  dropping  shells  or  bombs  into  the  city. 
The  British  thought  this  rather  humorous  at  the 
time,  since  the  most  devastating  thing  their  Army 
Commander  ever  dropped  or  ever  intended  to  drop 
into  Baghdad  was  a  limited  edition  of  a  proclama- 
tion calling  upon  the  people  to  preserve  order  and 
to  fear  nothing  from  British  troops.  But  the  sub- 
lime cheek  of  it  was  realized  when  they  began  later 
to  shovel  and  dig  their  way  into  certain  sections  of 
the  city  through  the  ruins  of  British  property. 

There  had  been  a  bank  and  a  number  of  good 
business  and  office  buildings  that  were  built  and 
occupied  before  the  war  by  British  firms  engaged 
in  international  commerce,  and  all  these  were  re- 
duced to  heaps  of  dust  and  rubbish.  Not  a  single 
piece  of  British  property  was  left  standing  except 
the  Residency,  a  rather  imposing  building  on  the 
river-front  which  reminds  one  forcefully  of  the  days 
when  Great  Britain  maintained  a  special  and  some- 
what stately  relationship  with  the  Turkish  Empire. 
Without  a  doubt  the  Residency  also  would  have 
been  destroyed  had  it  not  been  in  use  at  the  time 

297 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

as  a  Turkish  hospital.  It  must  have  cost  the 
German  officers  some  bitter  pangs  to  leave  it. 

And  at  that  it  was  in  a  sorry  condition.  As  a  hos- 
pital it  was  dirty  and  unkempt  beyond  anybody's 
power  to  describe,  and  the  British  found  it  filled  to 
capacity  with  wounded  Turks  who  had  been  aban- 
doned— left  behind  without  a  medical  officer  or 
even  an  orderly  to  attend  to  their  needs ! — this  being 
one  of  the  few  bad  counts  the  British  have  marked 
up  against  the  Turks.  And  they  wonder  about  it. 
One  of  the  medical  officers  who  entered  the  city 
with  General  Maude's  army  summed  up  the  situa- 
tion as  "the  most  horrible  mess"  he  had  ever 
encountered.  That  any  army  medical  service 
could  perpetrate  such  an  outrage  against  its  own 
wounded  was  a  thing  beyond  his  British  compre- 
hension. He  was  ready  to  concede  that  leaving 
the  wounded  behind  might  have  been  a  necessity, 
but  he  could  imagine  no  circumstances  under  which 
it  might  be  necessary  to  leave  them  without  medical 
or  nursing  attendance.  It  was  three  days  before 
the  British  came  in!  My  doctor  friend  told  me  in 
still  angry  recollection  that  he  wanted  almightily 
to  go  on  a  rampage  and  soundly  thrash  everybody 
in  Baghdad  who  might  have  taken  care  of  them 
and  did  not.  No  wounded  men  of  any  nationality 
ever  got  better  care  than  did  those  Turks  at  the 
hands  of  the  British. 

As  for  the  wanton  destruction  of  British  private 
property,  there  is  no  doubt  in  anybody's  mind,  so 
far  as  I  have  been  able  to  discover,  that  it  was 
ordered  by  German  officers  in  a  spirit  of  vindictive 
hatred.  Just  as  nobody  doubts  that  the  stripping 
of  the  British  graves  at  Kut-el-Amara  of  the  simple 

298 


ROUND  ABOUT  TOWN 

crosses  that  marked  them  was  a  German-inspired 
outrage.  To  rob  the  dead,  wantonly,  of  the  sweet 
shelter  of  identification  that  means  so  much  to  the 
loved  ones  left  behind — ! 

It  may  be  that  it  is  wronging  the  Germans  to  lay 
at  their  door  all  such  unnecessary  outrages  against 
human  decency,  but  if  it  is  they  have  nobody  but 
themselves  to  blame.  The  reputation  they  enjoy 
is  surely  the  result  of  their  own  unaided  efforts; 
efforts  magnificently  organized  and  ably  directed 
wherever  they  happen  for  the  time  being  to  be  in 
command  of  things.  , 

But  the  Turk — it  is  rather  a  curious  situation  as 
regards  the  Turk.  In  spite  of  considerable  evidence 
to  the  contrary  and  the  number  of  tremendous 
shocks  he  has  received,  the  average  Englishman 
has  never  quite  surrendered  the  idea  that  in  a 
general  sense  the  Turk  is  a  gentleman.  A  gentle- 
man, to  be  sure,  who  commits  wholesale  murder 
and  crimes  so  overwhelmingly  atrocious  that  they 
cause  a  whole  world  of  men  to  quake  with  horror, 
but  a  gentleman,  nevertheless,  who,  as  a  rule,  is 
incapable  of  petty  meannesses.  Is  that  not  as- 
tonishing? 

There  is  no  doubt  at  all  that  in  straight  battle 
the  Turk  fights  in  a  spirit  of  "may  the  best  man 
win."  He  endeavors  with  admirable  determination 
to  prove  himself  the  best  man,  but  he  never  stoops 
to  unfair  advantage  and  he  never  displays  in  any 
way  that  soul-searing  quality  of  hatred  with  which 
the  German  people  have  made  the  world  so  appall- 
ingly familiar. 

I  was  never  more  surprised  in  my  life  than  when 
I  was  told  by  a  British  officer  that  in  Mesopotamia 

299 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

the  British  do  not  require  gas  and  liquid  fire,  be- 
cause the  Turks  have  always  steadfastly  refused  to 
employ  such  things  against  them. 

This  is  worth  a  moment's  special  consideration. 
On  both  sides  the  Mesopotamian  war  has  been 
fought  with  shot  and  shell,  and,  so  far  as  is  known — 
and  aside  from  the  uncertainty  as  to  the  fate  of 
British  prisoners  in  Turkish  hands — the  Turks  have 
broken  no  established  rules  and  have  refused 
throughout  to  adopt  modern  German  methods  of 
inhuman  terrorism  and  frightfulness.  They  have 
observed  all  the  hitherto  internationally  customary 
courtesies  and  decencies  with  regard  to  the  wounded 
and  the  dead  on  the  battle-fields;  they  have  re- 
spected the  Red  Cross  as  their  own  Red  Crescent 
has  been  respected;  and  have  displayed  throughout 
a  tendency  to  maintain  the  conventionalities  and 
to  uphold  the  ethics  of  what  was  once  known  as 
"civilized  warfare." 

It  is  all  very  curious  and  one  fails  somehow  to 
understand.  It  would  surprise  us  very  little  if  the 
"terrible  Turk" — surely  convicted  before  the  world 
of  terribleness — should  resort  to  barbarous  methods 
even  against  such  a  respected  enemy  as  England. 
But  it  seems  he  has  not,  and  I  have  yet  to  hear 
an  Englishman  refer  to  the  Turkish  enemy — as 
such — in  any  but  terms  of  respect.  And  always 
with  the  simple  idea  that  he  must  be  "licked  into 
line"  at  whatever  cost;  the  ultimate  fate  of  Turkey 
being  from  an  international  viewpoint  one  of  the 
most  important  issues  of  the  war. 

There  are  a  great  many  thoughtful  and  intelligent 
Turks  who  realize,  as  I  know  from  personal  contact 
with  them  in  Constantinople  during  the  war,  that 

300 


Germany  is  playing  with  them  her  favorite  bully's 
game  of  "heads  I  win,  tails  you  lose."  But  for 
some  unexplained  and  as  yet  inexplicable  reason 
the  Turks  go  on  playing  it. 

The  British  Residency  was  soon  emptied  of  its 
pitiful  hundreds  of  wounded  Turks  and  became 
General  Headquarters  for  the  Mesopotamian  Ex- 
peditionary Force — the  G.  H.  Q.  of  every-day  con- 
versation. The  Turkish  infantry  barracks  inside 
the  Wall  on  the  river-bank,  the  tremendous  cavalry 
barracks  outside  the  old  North  Gate,  and  a  number 
of  other  more  or  less  suitable  large  buildings  in  the 
city,  were  quickly  cleaned  out  and  remodeled  for 
hospital  purposes,  while  the  Turkish  General  Hos- 
pital— a  very  creditable  modern  institution,  but 
also  occupied  by  deserted  Turks  and  in  a  very 
Turkish  state  of  uncleanness — was  put  in  proper 
condition  almost  overnight. 

The  junior  A.  D.  C.  and  I  climbed  into  a 
low  gray  service  car  in  front  of  the  house  and 
whirled  away  at  the  usual  nerve-trying  speed  of  an 
army  car  driven  by  a  soldier  chauffeur.  We  rushed 
past  G.  H.  Q.  with  its  mud-brick  wall  skirting  a 
ragged,  dust-powdered  garden;  past  low-roofed 
residences  buried  in  unkempt  greenery;  past  a  few 
coffee-houses  where  crowds  of  picturesquely-clad 
citizens  sat  cross-legged  on  wooden  benches,  drawing 
lazily  at  the  long  stems  of  narghiles,  and  so  on  into 
a  wide,  torn-up,  extraordinary  street  off  which  here 
and  there  one  caught  glimpses  into  deep,  dim 
bazaars  or  into  side-streets  that  were  piled  high 
with  the  debris  of  deliberate  destruction. 

301 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

This  street  is  casually  known  as  New  Street  and 
is  now  Baghdad's  principal  thoroughfare.  It  was 
cut  by  Khalil  Pasha  on  the  advice  of  the  Germans, 
and  it  was  ruthlessly  done.  No  Turk  would  ever 
think  of  doing  such  a  thing  on  his  own  initiative, 
the  Turks  being  partial  to  narrow,  airless  ways  and 
sunless  passages.  The  Germans,  however,  believe 
in  wide  streets  and  plenty  of  room,  and  they  are 
quite  right. 

But  to  hew  a  street  as  with  a  battle-ax  straight 
through  the  heart  of  such  a  city  as  Baghdad  re- 
quired some  lack  of  consideration  for  the  feelings  of 
the  inhabitants  and  the  property-owners.  There 
was  no  question  of  investigating  or  respecting 
proprietary  rights.  The  street  was  simply  cut 
through.  And  some  of  the  property-owners  were 
so  cast  down  by  it  that  to  this  day  they  have  not 
troubled  to  remove  from  the  half-cut-away  build- 
ings the  evidences  of  human  occupation.  They  left 
pictures  to  dangle  forlornly  on  the  walls  of  rooms, 
and  bits  of  furniture  here  and  there  to  become 
weather-beaten  and  unsightly.  They  look  horribly 
exposed  and  ashamed,  these  rooms  do. 

Even  a  mosque  which  lay  in  the  way  of  a  straight 
line  marked  out  for  the  street  had  one  corner 
hacked  away,  and  to  so  desecrate  a  mosque  is  in  the 
mind  of  the  orthodox  Moslem  an  unforgivable 
offense.  No  more  unpopular  thing  was  ever  done 
in  any  city,  yet  on  the  whole  it  was  a  good  thing  to 
do  and  the  British  have  reason  to  be  thankful  for 
it — and  glad  that  it  was  done  while  the  Germans 
were  in  control.  The  British  are  reaping  a  reward 
of  gratitude  and  trust  by  undertaking  gradually 
to  reimburse  the  property-owners  and  to  assist  them 

302 


THROUGH      THE      NORTH      GATE  —  VICTORIOUS      BRITISH      ENTERING 
BAGHDAD,    FAMOUS   CITY    OF    THE   KALIPHS 


AMERICAN   AUTOMOBILES    EV   THE  NEW   STREET,    BAGHDAD 


ROUND  ABOUT  TOWN 

in  rebuilding  and  in  re-establishing  themselves  in 
business.  The  street  was  needed. 

Baghdad  has  a  population  of  about  one  hundred 
and  forty  thousand,  but  it  is  compactly  built  and 
overcrowded,  and  one  gets  an  impression  that  it  is 
a  small  town  on  a  holiday,  with  everybody  in  from 
the  country  for  miles  around.  As  I  drove  through 
the  heart  of  it  I  tried  to  get  a  vision  that  would  stay 
in  my  mind  in  photographic  detail  of  the  strange 
multicolored  and  intermingled  life  that  I  was  seeing 
for  the  first  time.  But  it  was  not  possible.  There 
were  too  many  different  kinds  of  people  and  too 
many  curious  angles  and  contours  of  life.  Then 
there  were  the  khaki  and  gray — the  colors  of  war — 
that  one  saw  as  by  far  the  most  important  and 
interesting  thing  to  be  seen,  yet  that  contrasted 
so  sharply  with  the  general  scheme  of  things. 

We  had  to  turn  out  into  a  ditch  to  get  past  a 
long  convoy  of  guns  that  was  lumbering  and  clank- 
ing along,  accompanied  by  many  officers  on  hand- 
some horses,  while  on  the  other  side  of  the  street, 
disputing  the  way  with  automobiles  and  donkeys, 
was  a  long  line  of  camels  ambling  disdainfully 
throiigh  the  mob  under  heavy  loads  of  army  duffle 
of  varying  degrees  of  lumpiness. 

In  many  of  the  gaping  frontless  houses  and  in 
tiny  bits  of  garden  here  and  there  were  Persians 
and  Arabs  and  Oriental  Jews  at  their  everlasting 
drowsing  over  coffee  and  hubble-bubbles;  there 
were  women,  hundreds  of  them,  unveiled  for  the 
most  part,  but  wrapped  from  head  to  feet  in  gor- 
geous-hued  and  all-enveloping  abahs;  Kurd  port- 
ers staggering  under  unbelievable  burdens,  and 
other  Kurds  wearing  the  same  black  pot-hat  that 

303 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

was  worn  by  their  forefathers  thousands  of  years 
ago — as  is  proved  so  often  by  the  picture  records 
discovered  in  the  buried  cities;  droves  of  coolie 
women  all  but  lost  to  view  under  loose  enormous 
bundles  of  twigs  and  desert  grass  roots  that  are 
carried  in  for  fuel;  lordly  turbaned  Moslem  elders 
looking  very  important  in  black  flowing  robes;  red- 
fezzed  Jews  in  misfit  European  clothing;  handsome 
Persians  in  high  white  lambs-wool  caps  and  long 
silken  coats  of  many  colors;  slaves — slave  women 
and  slave  men  from  East  Africa,  black  as  ebony 
and  with  shifty  eyes  full  of  inquiry  and  resent- 
ment; and  Christians — Christian  peoples  from  the 
north  and  Christians  of  ancient  Chaldean  stock  who 
are  Arabian  so  far  as  costume  is  concerned,  but  who 
are  unlike  their  Ishmaelitish  brethren  in  that  they 
are  as  white  as  Germans,  many  of  them,  and  have 
eyes  as  blue. 

We  came  at  last  to  the  old  North  Gate  where  the 
New  Street  ends.  The  North  Gate  is  a  ragged 
remnant  of  the  ancient  city  and  has  great  heavy, 
nail-studded  doors,  swung  back.  On  either  side 
stands  a  British  sentry,  and  they  saluted  us  as  we 
passed  by  clicking  their  heels  together  and  smartly 
tapping  the  butts  of  the  guns  at  the  shoulders. 

Out  beyond  the  North  Gate  we  came  into  a  vast 
expanse  of  nothing,  in  the  yellow,  sandy  midst  of 
which  stands  the  tremendous  Turkish  cavalry  bar- 
racks which  is  now  Indian  Stationary  Hospital 
No.  61,  with  a  capacity  of  more  than  thirteen 
hundred  beds. 

It  was  our  intention  to  drive  round  the  city  on 
the  outer  embankment  of  the  dry  moat  which 

304 


ROUND  ABOUT  TOWN 

skirts  what  was  once  the  Wall,  and  this  we  pro- 
ceeded very  bumpily  and  uncomfortably  to  do. 

Baghdad  had  a  wall  once  upon  a  time  who  con- 
ceived for  some  reason  the  noble  idea  of  destroying 
the  old  Wall,  filling  in  the  moat,  and  turning  it  all 
into  one  grand  boulevard. 

A  Germanly  inclined  critic  would  be  likely  to  say, 
And  were  the  Germans  responsible  for  that?  No, 
probably  not.  Else  it  would  not  have  been  done 
in  such  a  delightfully  human  and  haphazard  fashion. 
It  was  a  laudable  plan,  perhaps,  but  it  was  carried 
out  with  customary  Turkish  leisureliness  and  graft 
and  in  the  result  one  sees  much  more  of  the  pre- 
liminary destruction  than  of  the  intended  subse- 
quent improvement. 

The  road  we  traveled  was  indescribably  awful, 
and  the  comment  of  the  A.  D.  C. — jerked  out  rather 
comically  between  bumps — was  to  the  effect  that 
it  was  "no — kind — o — va  road — over  which  to 
ta — ka  lady — j — oy-riding !" 

But  I  assured  him  it  was  quite  all  right  because 
the  view  was  per — f ectly  su — p — erb ! 

Looking  westward  through  the  afternoon  haze 
toward  the  palm-fringed  Tigris,  the  City  of  the 
Kaliphs  seemed  to  be  almost  all  that  one  might 
want  it  to  be.  Its  domes  and  minarets  are  covered 
with  bright-colored  tiles  or  mosaics,  and,  viewed 
at  close  range,  they  look  rather  tawdry.  But  from 
out  there  in  the  desert  one  saw  the  grace  of  them, 
and  their  colors  seemed  to  blend  into  a  radiant  glow. 

We  rolled,  rocked,  bumped,  and  teetered  down 
off  the  fearful  moat  road  and  came  into  a  vast 
Mohammedan  burial-ground  in  the  midst  of  which 
stands  the  mosque-like  tomb  of  the  Kaliph  Omar. 

305 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

Then  we  plunged  up  again  and  on  to  the  one-time 
East  Gate  of  the  city,  through  which  a  succession 
of  conquerors  have  marched  in  triumph  into 
Baghdad. 

It  seems  a  great  pity  that  the  Turks  did  not 
realize  General  Maude's  intention.  He  came  up 
to  the  city  on  a  river  boat,  entered  it  with  a  min- 
imum of  pomp  and  spectacle,  and  marched  his 
troops  by  the  shortest  and  easiest  route  on  to  the 
northward  in  pursuit  of  the  retreating  enemy.  If 
the  Turks  had  known  he  would  do  this,  the  inter- 
esting ancient  gate  of  the  conquerors  might  have 
been  spared.  There  is  a  tradition  that  whoever 
marches  through  this  gate  victorious  in  arms  es- 
tablishes a  lasting  rule  in  Mesopotamia,  so  before 
they  left  the  Turks  added  considerably  to  its  de- 
struction and  filled  in  the  remaining  fragment  of 
its  beautiful  arch  with  a  solid  block  of  masonry. 
They  probably  thought  General  Maude  knew  about 
this  tradition  and  expected  him  to  take  advantage 
of  it,  and  they  were  taking  no  chances  on  the  es- 
tablishment of  permanent  British  rule. 

A  short  distance  outside  the  South  Gate,  at  the 
edge  of  a  desert  that  stretches  away  in  utter 
emptiness  to  the  eastern  horizon,  we  came  upon 
two  very  small,  very  snug,  very  curious  foreign 
cemeteries.  They  lie  close  together,  but  they  are 
definitely  apart.  Each  is  surrounded  by  its  own 
high  mud  wall  and  each  is  shaded  by  a  few  tall 
dusty  palms  and  low  feathery  tamarisk-trees.  One 
is  British.  The  other  is  German. 

One  is  British;  a  British  cemetery  of  peaceful 
days  when  Britons  lived  and  died  in  such  far  places 
as  Baghdad  in  the  pursuit  of  diplomacy,  commerce, 

306 


ROUND  ABOUT  TOWN 

scientific  research,  or  the  mere  idle  delights  of 
wanderlust.  Wonderful  German  word! 

The  other  is  German;  a  German  cemetery  of 
peaceful  days  when  Germans  lived  and  died  in  such 
far  places  as  Baghdad  in  the  pursuit  of  the  German 
variety  of  diplomacy,  of  commerce  and  scientific 
research,  and  of  the  almost  never  mere  idle  delights 
of  wanderlust,  as  we  have  learned,  to  our  astonish- 
ment and  sorrow. 

In  the  German  cemetery  they  buried  Von  der 
Goltz  Pasha.  But  his  body  was  subsequently  ex- 
humed and  sent  back  to  Germany,  where  one 
imagines  that  the  Pasha  of  his  Turkish  honor  and 
glory  will  not  be  too  conspicuously  displayed  upon 
his  tomb.  Since  he  was  a  German,  I  have  only  a 
vague  idea  why  one  should  imagine  this,  but  it 
is  said  that  the  Turks  loathed  him  with  a  mighty 
loathing,  and  nobody  pretends  to  believe  that  he 
died  a  natural  death. 

Five  or  six  hundred — I  don't  know  the  exact 
number — of  the  men  who  went  into  captivity  with 
General  Townshend  died  when  they  reached  Bagh- 
dad, and  are  buried  in  a  palm-grove  on  the  other 
side  of  the  river.  They  were  not  given  graves; 
they  were  merely  put  away  under  leveled  ground, 
the  location  of  which  the  British  might  never  have 
learned  had  it  not  been  for  some  Arabs  who  helped 
to  bury  them  and  some  sisters  in  a  French  convent 
who  begged  and  obtained  permission  to  nurse  them 
when  they  were  dying. 

For  this  devoted  service  the  British  government 
has  conferred  upon  these  sisters  a  war  decoration 
of  a  high  order;  and  they  are  greatly  beloved  in 
Baghdad.  They  are  just  a  small  company  of 

307 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

humble  little  nuns,  but  they  are  French,  and  who  can 
tell  what  they  must  have  suffered  during  the  thirty- 
two  months  of  Turkish  and  German  domination! 

When  the  British  learned  where  the  Kut  prison- 
ers were  buried  a  number  of  them  wanted  to  have 
the  bodies  taken  up  and  reburied  with  all  the  honors 
of  war  in  the  new  military  cemetery  outside  the 
North  Gate.  But  General  Maude  said  no.  He 
was  strongly  opposed  to  any  such  course  and 
positively  refused  to  sanction  it. 

"Poor  fellows,"  he  said,  "let  them  lie  where  they 
are.  It  is  their  own  spot  and  nothing  we  could 
possibly  do  would  add  anything  to  the  honor  that 
is  already  theirs.  Some  day  we  will  make  a  little 
park  of  their  burial-ground  and  give  them  a  monu- 
ment— all  their  own.  That  would  be  better,  much 
better  than  to  disturb  them  now." 

And  at  once  everybody  agreed  with  him. 

We  had  driven  all  round  the  city  and  came  at  last 
to  the  south  entrance,  which  leads  into  the  wide, 
but  altogether  hideous,  New  Street.  This  was  the 
entrance  through  which  a  small  detachment  of  the 
conquering  British  army  marched  on  the  llth  of 
March,  1917. 

We  passed  our  own  house,  which  stood  not  far 
from  where  the  vast  reaches  of  the  desert  leave  off 
and  the  town  begins,  and  went  on  again  through 
the  maze  of  things — to  the  mosque  of  Abdul 
Gilahin  Quadhir. 

We  went  to  the  mosque  of  Abdul  Gilahin  Quadhir 
for  no  purpose,  I  thought,  but  to  convince  our- 
selves of  the  uselessness  of  doing  so,  though  I 
did  catch  tantalizing  glimpses  of  a  great  inner 

308 


ROUND  ABOUT  TOWN 

court,  and  of  graceful  fountains  round  which  many 
of  the  faithful  were  engaged  in  devout  ablutions. 

No  "infidel" — it  does  seem  strange  to  be  classed 
as  an  infidel — is  allowed  to  enter  a  mosque  in 
Baghdad,  or  in  any  other  holy  Mohammedan  town. 
And  so  scrupulously  is  this  Moslem  principle  re- 
spected by  the  British  that  they  post  Mohammedan 
Indian  sentries  outside  all  mosque  entrances  in 
order  to  discourage  any  Tommy  who,  in  a  moment 
of  exuberance,  might  be  tempted  to  break  in  for  a 
peep  at  the  so  carefully  guarded  mysteries.  They 
say  the  British  soldiers  have  some  to-do  to  restrain 
themselves.  If  the  mosques  were  wide  open  and 
free  to  any  one  who  might  wish  to  enter,  they  would 
be  no  temptation  at  all.  But — forbidden  ground! 

And  one  day  a  Tommy  actually  did  get  into  this 
most  sacred  of  all  the  sacred  mosques  of  Baghdad — 
the  mosque  of  Abdul  Gilahin  Quadhir.  He  went 
in  disguised  as  an  Arab,  with  abah,  kuffiyeh,  sandals, 
and  everything.  But  his  disguise  was  not  perfect 
in  all  its  details — one  can  imagine  a  young  Britisher 
trying  to  act  like  an  Arab! — and  he  was  seized  and 
dealt  with  very  severely.  It  is  a  wonder  he  escaped 
with  his  life.  Then  he  was  imprisoned  for  disre- 
garding regulations  and  was  afterward  sent  out  of 
the  country  in  disgrace,  while  the  British  officers — 
hiding  smiles,  perhaps — offered  gracious  apologies 
to  the  Moslem  elders,  who  were  graciously  pleased 
to  accept  them. 

No  story  I  think  better  illustrates  the  methods 
and  the  success  of  the  British  with  subject  peoples 
whose  faiths  are  different  from  their  own.  And  no 
story  serves  better  to  emphasize  why  with  peoples 
of  alien  beliefs  the  British  are  always  a  success. 

21  309 


CHAPTER  XXII 

WHENCE   HARUN-AL-RASHID    STROLLED 

THERE  is  not  much  in  Baghdad  to  remind  one 
of  the  grandeur  and  the  greatness  of  its  past, 
but  when  I  walked  lingeringly  under  the  lofty 
arched  gateway  of  the  Citadel  one  morning  I  quite 
felt  that  I  was  stepping  out  of  the  grinding  and 
grueling  Now  into  the  restfulness  of  the  finished 
ages.  But  the  first  thing  I  saw  was  a  recently 
captured  Krupp  gun  standing  out  on  Harun-al- 
Rashid's  parade-ground;  so  I  came  straight  back 
to  Now. 

There  is  an  old  bronze  cannon  just  outside  the 
portal  that  has  been  there  for  no  telling  how  many 
generations,  and  though  it  would  be  a  wonderful 
prize  to  set  up  on  a  British  greensward  somewhere, 
it  is  perfectly  safe  where  it  is  because  to  take  it 
away  would  be  to  rob  the  women  and  children. 
I  don't  know  how  or  when  it  acquired  its  wizard's 
power,  but  it  possesses  such  power,  and  no  man 
child  is  born  within  reach  of  it  who  is  not  brought 
by  his  mother  and  held  for  a  moment  in  front  of  its 
muzzle  while  she  mutters  the  incantation  which, 
by  the  gun's  magic  virtue,  puts  upon  him  a  spell 
of  human  excellence. 

I  was  comparing  this  delicately  decorated  in- 

310 


WHENCE  HARUN-AL-RASHID  STROLLED 

strument  of  the  polite  warfare  of  a  better  age  with 
the  shining,  black,  business-like  and  murderous- 
looking  Krupp  when  the  commandant  came  hurry- 
ing out  of  a  cavern  of  early-world  wickedness  to 
welcome  me. 

It  must  have  been  a  cavern  of  wickedness.  It  is 
impossible  to  imagine  its  walls  echoing  anything 
but  the  moans '  of  the  tortured  and  the  sibilant 
whispers  of  sin. 

The  commandant  took  me  at  once  to  see  what 
had  been  detaining  him.  We  walked  through  a 
low  door  in  a  massive  ruined  wall,  went  down  some 
crumbling  steps,  and  came  into  a  long,  perfectly 
preserved,  gray  baked-brick  corridor  that  could 
not  have  been  more  than  five  feet  wide  and  was 
certainly  not  less  than  forty  feet  high.  And  it  was 
wonderfully  vaulted  overhead.  It  was  a  passage- 
way of  some  sort  in  the  ancient  palace  of  the 
Kaliphs. 

Along  one  side  of  it  there  were  numerous  open- 
ings in  a  wall  about  four  feet  thick  which  led  into 
the  deepest  dungeons  that  imagination  could 
picture.  And  it  was  in  the  dungeons  that  the 
commandant  was  interested. 

In  them  the  Turks  had  stored  a  tremendous 
quantity  of  lead  in  long  round  bars  that  were  ricked 
in  even  rows  running  away  into  the  depths  of  the 
gloom  farther  than  one's  eyes  could  penetrate. 

That  they  should  have  attempted  to  destroy 
such  indestructible  material  is  rather  amusing; 
but  they  did,  and  in  doing  so  they  at  least  gave 
the  British  some  extra  and  arduous  labor.  Most 
of  it  escaped  and  was  being  moved  out  and  stacked 
in  a  courtyard  to  await  the  process  which  would 

311 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

convert  it  into  bars  bearing  the  stamp  of  the 
British  supply  department.  But  in  some  of  the 
dungeons  the  fires  the  Turks  started  continued  to 
burn  until  the  metal  was  melted  down  into  solid 
masses.  And  now  these  masses  were  being  attacked 
with  picks  and  drills  and  the  lead  was  coming  out 
in  great,  ragged,  shining  chunks.  I  thought  it  was 
the  most  interesting  bit  of  mining  I  had  ever  seen. 

Outside,  in  the  lee  of  a  wall  that  was  built  about 
the  year  800,  a  number  of  Britishers  were  feeding 
rubbish  and  desert  grass  roots  into  a  long,  im- 
provised brick  furnace,  over  which  were  suspended 
a  half-dozen  common-looking  kettles  filled  with 
molten  lead  that  bubbled  and  boiled,  while  a  num- 
ber of  other  men  were  engaged  in  pouring  the 
metal  into  molds  strung  in  rows  along  the  ancient 
flagstones. 

The  Citadel  is  little  else  but  a  vast  walled  in- 
closure  now,  but  it  once  contained  a  number  of 
marvelous  buildings,  as  the  ruins  of  the  palace  of 
the  Kaliphs  marvelously  prove.  And  the  walls 
themselves  are  wonderful.  They  are  about  forty 
feet  across  and  consist  within  of  great  chambers  that 
stretch  away  city  blocks  in  length,  their  vaulted 
ceilings  being  upheld  by  mammoth  pillared  arches 
of  brick. 

These  magnificently  built  walls  surround  three 
sides  of  the  stronghold,  and  along  the  fourth  flows 
the  broad,  slow-moving  Tigris,  held  within  bounds 
by  a  high  embankment  of  time-pitted  masonry 
which,  continuing  upward  in  a  splendid  sweeping 
curve,  forms  what  was  once  the  outer  wall  of  the 
palace  and  suggests  scaling-ladders  and  all  the  Old- 
World  paraphernalia  of  war. 

312 


BRITISH    GUNS,    RECAPTURED    AT    BAGHDAD 


FORTY    THOUSAND   TURKISH    RIFLE-BARRELS   AT   BAGHDAD 


,  •    *    '  • 

•  .    »      .  .... 

•  '•  •  •   •  • '  •  i   . 


WHENCE  HARUN-AL-RASHID  STROLLED 

In  the  inner  wall  chambers  the  Turks  stored 
modern  munitions,  and  there  was  a  fairly  satisfac- 
tory haul  of  shells  of  various  caliber  to  go  with 
captured  guns. 

But  the  most  precious  prizes  the  British  got  with 
Baghdad  were  the  guns  that  were  taken  from 
General  Townshend  at  Ctesiphon  and  Kut.  The 
Turks  did  a  few  things  to  them  and  left  them  behind 
in  the  Citadel.  They  turned  out  to  be  rubbish 
more  or  less,  but  they  meant  more  to  the  English- 
men than  all  the  other  loot  put  together.  One  of 
them  was  sent  home  to  the  King. 

Then  there  was  a  great  arsenal  filled  with  small- 
arms  and  small-arms  ammunition,  and  behind  this, 
in  what  seems  to  have  been  the  area  of  destruction 
and  where  the  British  guns  were  found,  was  a  stack 
of  about  forty  thousand  rifle-barrels. 

The  rifles  had  been  fed  into  a  bonfire  and  all  the 
wood  on  them  had  been  burned  away,  but  the 
barrels,  lying  in  a  huge  haphazard  heap  against  a 
high  wall,  were  at  least  interesting.  They  looked 
to  me  like  a  mountainous  pile  of  fire-blackened  and 
altogether  useless  giant  reeds.  A  number  of  Arab 
coolies  were  engaged  in  the  task  of  sorting  them 
out  as  to  sizes  and  styles,  while  inside  many  others 
were  deftly  sorting  ammunition  and  putting  things 
to  rights  generally. 

The  Turks  really  attempted  a  wholesale  destruc- 
tion before  they  left,  but  either  they  were  in  too 
much  of  a  hurry  or  the  construction  of  the  old  build- 
ings is  such  as  to  defy  even  high  explosives.  They 
planted  dynamite  in  the  pillars  of  the  wall  chambers 
of  the  Citadel,  but  the  only  damage  observable  con- 
sists of  a  few  cracks  and  jagged  holes. 

313 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

Whether  or  not  the  dynamite  traps  that  were 
found  in  a  number  of  buildings  here  and  there 
throughout  the  city  were  purposely  left  is  not 
known.  It  is  charitably  supposed  that  they  were 
all  charges  that  had  failed  to  explode.  But  they 
greatly  endangered  the  lives  of  hundreds  of  British 
workmen,  and  it  is  merely  providential  that  no 
serious  accidents  have  occurred. 

When  they  were  hastily  remodeling  and  equip- 
ping a  certain  industrial-school  building  for  use  as 
an  automobile-repair  shop  they  came  upon  dyna- 
mite planted  in  the  flagstones  of  the  floor — enough 
to  blow  up  the  whole  neighborhood.  This  was  the 
first  discovery  and  you  may  be  sure  that  thereafter 
everybody  worked  warily  in  explorations  with  pick 
and  shovel. 

I  was  not  sure  I  wanted  to  visit  the  prison.  Its 
sinister  walls,  seen  across  the  wide  parade-ground, 
were  enough  to  make  me  think  to  myself,  "Oh, 
well,  prisons  are  prisons." 

But  the  commandant  seemed  to  be  rather  keen 
about  it.  And  besides,  he  had  given  nearly  two- 
thirds  of  the  prisoners  a  half -day  off  from  work  on 
a  new  road  up  the  river  in  order  that  I  might  see 
them.  Moreover,  the  prison  was  in  a  part  of  the 
palace  of  the  Kaliphs  and  there  was  no  other  such 
prison  anywhere  on  earth. 

So  he  said.  But  I  always  approach  prisons  with 
my  heart  in  my  mouth.  It  is  not  fear.  It  is  hor- 
ror. The  thought  of  a  prison  is  quite  enough  to 
restrain  my  criminal  inclinations.  Though  maybe 
criminal  Arabs  are  not  exactly  people. 

A  heavy  modern  steel  door  hinged  on  an  ancient 

314 


WHENCE  HARUN-AL-RASHID   STROLLED 

six-foot  wall  swung  open  a  few  inches  and  we  went 
in.  We  were  met  by  the  warden — an  Englishman 
in  Mesopotamia  in  civilian  clothes! — and  were  con- 
ducted into  an  inner  court  round  three  sides  of 
which  the  prisoners  were  standing  in  an  uneven 
stoop  -  shouldered  row.  They  were  barefooted, 
clothed  in  heavy  gray  wool  sack-like  coats  and 
short  trousers,  and  a  majority  of  them  wore  leg- 
chains.  A  more  villainous-looking  crew  no  writer 
of  lurid  fiction  ever  pictured. 

The  warden  barked  a  sharp  command  in  Arabic 
and  they  all  dropped  to  their  haunches.  Another 
command,  and  they  spread  their  hands  out,  palms 
up,  in  front  of  them. 

Off  in  one  corner  by  themselves  were  several  very 
respectable-looking  citizens — Baghdadi  Jews — in 
their  own  voluminous  and  rather  attractive  gar- 
ments, and  as  they  obeyed  the  warden's  order  to 
sit  down  and  hold  out  their  hands  they  looked 
like  nothing  so  much  as  a  lot  of  long-black-whiskered 
bad  boys  doing  a  ridiculous  kind  of  penance. 

"What  are  the  otherwise  dignified  gentlemen  in 
for?"  I  asked. 

"For  not  paying  their  debts  to  the  government," 
was  the  rather  startling  answer. 

In  the  good  old  Turkish  days  government  was 
not  such  a  positive  quantity  as  it  is  now,  and  it 
was  not  nearly  so  regularly  conducted.  Such  a 
creature  as  a  tax-collector  who  could  not  be  in- 
duced for  a  consideration  to  underestimate  property 
values  and  to  overlook  many  of  a  man's  belongings 
did  not  exist.  In  fact  there  was  no  fixed  system  of 
assessment.  A  Turkish  collector  paid  into  the 
coffers  of  the  state  the  amount  decided  upon  as  his 

315 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

district's  quota;  he  collected  as  he  could  from  the 
taxpayers,  and  kept  the  margin  of  personal  gain 
sufficiently  wide  to  make  his  job  attractive. 

The  British  changed  all  that.  They  instituted 
a  system  of  equitable  assessment  on  established 
British  lines,  and  the  taxpayer  now  gets  a  notice  to 
betake  himself  to  a  certain  place  and  pay  a  fixed 
sum  within  a  fixed  period.  Most  persons  are  satis- 
fied to  accept  this  innovation  because  they  see  in  it 
a  positive  benefit.  Moreover,  they  see  that  all 
moneys  collected,  and  vast  sums  besides,  are  being 
spent  on  public  improvements.  They  have  been 
able  to  get  along  always  without  good  roads,  clean 
streets,  decent  sanitary  arrangements,  and  all 
other  modern  necessities,  but,  once  these  are  pro- 
vided, they  begin  to  appreciate  the  value  of  them. 

But  these  respectable-looking  old  men  in  dur- 
ance vile  were  among  the  few  who  liked  the  old 
way  better  and  who  refused  to  conform  to  the 
new  order  of  things.  Their  sentences  were  inde- 
terminate in  that  they  would  jolly  well  have  to 
stay  right  where  they  were  until  they  made  up 
their  stubborn  minds  to  "come  across"  and  ac- 
cept the  responsibilities  along  with  the  privileges 
of  citizenship.  The  warden  laughed  and  said  they 
spent  hours  sitting  around  mumbling  and  grum- 
bling about  it  and  going  over  long  columns  of 
figures. 

We  went  on  round  the  court,  into  the  immaculate 
kitchens  and  into  workrooms  of  various  kinds — 
tailor  shops  and  carpenter  sheds — and  at  every 
door  the  warden  spoke  the  guttural,  harsh-sounding 
words  that  brought  the  prisoners  upstanding  with 

palms  out,     I  understood  the  wisdom  of  this  pre- 
316 


WHENCE  HARUN-AL-RASHID  STROLLED 

caution  when  a  man  in  the  kitchen — a  terrible 
looking,  black-browed  brigand  with  bad-conduct 
stripes  on  his  chest — laid  down  a  big  meat-knife 
in  order  to  obey! 

A  deputy  watched  the  inner  court  while  we  ex- 
plored the  cells  that  were  once  dungeons,  but  that 
have  been  lighted  and  ventilated  for  the  sake  of  the 
British  conscience;  then  we  came  down  past  a  row 
of  large  rooms  with  barred  steel  doors  that  open 
into  the  court. 

All  round  sat  the  awful  band  of  criminals,  watch- 
ing every  move  we  made,  and  as  we  passed  one  of 
the  barred  doors  a  long  arm  reached  out  and  a  bony 
hand  clutched  at  me! 

I  am  not  trying  to  be  melodramatic,  but  I  never 
felt  a  more  unpleasant  thrill  in  my  life.  Behind 
the  barred  door  were  seventeen  men,  and  they  had 
ranged  themselves  in  a  line,  all  leaning  suppliantly 
forward,  while  he  of  the  long  arm  and  bony  hand 
pressed  against  the  bars  and  whined  a  petition  in 
which  I  could  catch  but  one  word — "Mem-sahib!" 

He  was  addressing  me. 

The  warden  and  the  commandant  stopped  and 
listened.  And  I  should  like  to  remark  in  passing 
that  the  British  always  seem  to  have  good  men  who 
can  speak  the  languages  of  the  tribes  they  have  to 
deal  with.  They  showed  no  signs  of  impatience  or 
anger.  They  merely  listened. 

"What  does  he  say?"  I  asked. 

"He  says  they  all  want  justice,  and  only  justice; 
that  they  can  get  no  hearing;  and  that  if  you,  who 
are  the  only  lady  ever  seen  within  these  walls,  will 
appeal  for  justice  for  them,  they  know  their  cases 
will  be  taken  up  and  that  they  will  be  at  liberty 

317 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

shortly  to  return  to  their  families."  The  warden 
spoke  in  a  commonplace  singsong,  as  a  man  does 
in  translating  offhand. 

"Who  are  they?"  I  asked. 

"All  men  condemned  to  death." 

"'But  they  have  been  tried  in  the  usual  way,  have 
they  not?" 

"Certainly!" 

"WTiat  were  their  crimes?" 

"Murder  mostly — though  a  few  of  them  were 
caught  giving  information  to  the  enemy." 

"Then  what  can  they  hope  to  gain  by  such  an 
appeal?" 

"Oh,  nothing.  It  is  Arab  habit  to  make  appeals. 
We  leave  them  practically  outdoors,  as  you  see,  and 
put  them  under  very  little  restraint  of  any  kind. 
And  everything  they  do  teaches  us  something  about 
the  breed.  We  really  want  to  know  as  much  about 
them  as  we  can.  It  simplifies  the  task  of  handling 
them  justly  and  rightly." 

On  the  flat  roof,  overlooking  the  beautiful,  palm- 
shaded  Tigris,  they  showed  me  the  scaffold.  It 
was  a  double  one,  but  rather  antiquated,  and  they 
dwelt  at  some  length  on  the  advantages  of  a  new 
one  that  was  about  to  be  substituted.  Then  we 
had  quite  a  conversation  about  capital  punishment 
in  general,  and  to  my  surprise  I  found  that  my  sup- 
posedly case-hardened  companions  were  quite  sen- 
timental about  it.  They  hated  it  abominably. 
But  the  warden  thought  that  as  long  as  it  is  re- 
tained on  the  supposition  that  it  discourages 
criminal  propensities  it  ought  to  be  made  as  un- 
pleasant as  possible.  And  he  told  about  a  Mo- 
hammedan he  had  to  hang  once  who  announced 

318 


WHENCE  HARUN-AL-RASHID  STROLLED 

from  the  scaffold  that  he  did  not  mind  in  the  least, 
because  he  had  killed  a  Christian,  he  was  dying 
with  his  face  to  the  east,  and  he  was  sure  he  would 
go  straight  to  Paradise. 

"Whereupon,"  said  the  warden,  "so  as  not  to 
give  his  family  and  friends  too  much  cause  for  re- 
joicing, I  readjusted  him  and  turned  his  back  to 
the  sunrise." 

After  that  the  Citadel  was  a  good  place  to  get 
away  from. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

ACROSS   AN   AMAZING   RIVER 

'"PHE  senior  A.  D.  C.  and  I  started  out  one  morn- 
•l  ing  to  explore  the  opposite  bank.  We  sent 
our  automobile  across  early  because  the  single  pon- 
toon bridge  which  spans  the  river  opens  at  certain 
hours  to  let  the  boat  traffic  through  and  at  other 
times  is  likely  to  be  closed  to  ordinary  traffic  for  the 
benefit  of  long  military  convoys.  And  to  break  a 
military  convoy  for  personal  reasons  is  Offense 
Number  One  in  a  war  zpne. 

We  crossed  at  our  leisure  in  the  Army  Com- 
mander's launch  and,  being  privileged  persons,  went 
cruising  on  the  way  through  the  maze  of  marvelous 
things  afloat  which  make  of  the  Baghdad  river- 
front a  scene  of  inexhaustible  fascination. 

First  there  is  the  pontoon  bridge.  Then  there 
are  the  goufas.  A  boat  bridge  of  some  description 
has  spanned  the  Tigris  at  Baghdad  for  ages,  it  be- 
ing impossible,  it  seems,  to  build  an  ordinary  bridge 
across  a  river  that  has  an  annual  rise  of  more  than 
twenty  feet  and  that  cuts  up  all  kinds  of  didoes;  but 
the  one  now  in  service  is  a  1917  British  model  and 
is  not  too  thrillingly  interesting  after  one  has  seen 
some  others — less  substantial,  perhaps,  but  far 
more  historic — farther  down,  where  crossing  and  re- 

320 


ACROSS  AN  AMAZING  RIVER 

crossing  the  river  under  the  withering  fire  of  a  deter- 
mined enemy  was  so  much  a  part  of  the  British 
experience  "when  Maude  went  north/' 

The  goufas  are  wonderful !  I  suppose  I  ought  to 
be  reminded  by  them  of  something  besides  the 
"three  wise  men  of  Gotham  who  went  to  sea  in  a 
tub."  But  nobody  else  who  has  written  about  them 
has  ever  thought  of  anything  else  in  connection 
with  them,  so  why  should  I  bother?  For  that  is 
exactly  what  they  remind  one  of.  They  are  per- 
fectly round  reed  baskets,  "pitched  within  and 
without  with  pitch."  They  have  curved-in  brims 
and  look  for  all  the  world  like  enormous  black 
bowls  floating  uncertainly  about.  They  are  the 
only  kind  of  rowboat  the  Baghdad  people  seem  to 
know  anything  about,  and  the  river  at  times  is 
literally  crowded  with  them. 

They  roll  round  among  the  larger  and  more 
possible-looking  craft  like  a  thousand  huge,  in- 
verted tar  bubbles.  And  the  way  they  are  laden 
is  a  marvel  and  a  mystery.  Many  of  them  ply 
back  and  forth  as  ferry-boats,  and  it  is  not  at  all 
unusual  to  see  one  of  them  carrying  two  donkeys, 
half  a  dozen  sheep,  a  dozen  people,  and  somebody's 
entire  stock  of  earthly  belongings  in  bundles  and 
bales.  But  they  are  most  pleasing  to  the  eye  when 
they  are  carrying  reeds  from  the  marshes  up-river. 

The  reeds  are  cut  with  their  feathery  blooms 
still  on  and  are  packed  in  a  gouf  a  in  upright  sheaves, 
the  effect  being  a  gigantic  imitation  of  a  Scotch 
thistle,  out  of  the  top  of  which  may  protrude  the 
turbaned  head  and  brightly  hooded  shoulders  of  an 
Arab  passenger.  The  men  who  propel  the  amazing 
craft  squeeze  themselves  in  under  its  curving  brim 

321 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

and  wield  long  paddles  and  poles  with  surpassing 
skill. 

Then  there  are  the  mahaylas.  On  the  way  up- 
river  one  sees  hundreds  of  these  great,  high-hulled 
cargo-boats,  and  they  creak  along  under  sail  or  are 
towed  by  long  lines  of  men  who,  with  bent  backs 
and  a  steady,  trudging  stride,  labor  along  a  path 
on  the  shelving  bank  and  manage  to  make  of  them- 
selves such  pictures  as  one  sees  on  ancient  pottery — 
pottery  found  in  the  graves  of  men  who  died 
thousands  of  years  ago. 

When  St.  Paul  was  shipwrecked  in  the  JSgean 
Sea  the  chronicler  of  the  incident  wrote  that  "fear- 
ing lest  we  should  have  fallen  upon  rocks,  they 
cast  four  anchors  out  of  the  stern  and  wished  for 
the  day." 

The  I.  G.  C.  liked  to  refer  to  this.  And  he  had 
read  somewhere  that  because  anchoring  by  the 
stern  is  against  all  nautical  procedure,  this  passage 
engaged  the  earnest  attention  of  the  wise  men  who 
made  the  King  James  version  of  the  Bible,  and 
that  there  was  much  discussion  about  it. 

The  wording  of  it  was  regarded  as  either  a  mis- 
take in  the  original  translation  or  a  slip  of  the  pen 
on  the  part  of  the  writer.  But  the  subject,  having 
been  referred  in  all  solemnity  to  certain  savants 
of  the  East,  was  immediately  dropped  when  it  was 
learned  that  even  then  there  were  many  ships 
plying  up  and  down  the  JEgean  coast  and  on  the 
inland  waters  of  the  ancient  and  unchanging  world 
behind  it  that  were  identical  as  to  bow  and  stern 
and  could  anchor  either  way. 

For  an  exciting  experience  I  can  recommend  a 
spin  in  a  glisseur  through  a  waterway  crowded  with 

322 


ACROSS  AN  AMAZING  RIVER 

this  kind  of  slow-moving,  cumbersome  traffic.  The 
glisseur — wonderfully  descriptive  French  word! — 
and  the  goufa — also  descriptive  if  you  get  a  suf- 
ficient oof  in  it ! — are  the  antitheses  of  things  afloat, 
the  glisseur  being  a  flat-bottomed  surface-skimmer 
with  a  powerful  engine  which  drives  a  great  wind 
wheel  at  the  stern.  The  impertinent,  dangerous 
thing  makes  from  thirty  to  forty-five  miles  an  hour 
and  more  noise  than  anything  else  that  moves. 

I  went  in  a  glisseur  one  day  to  visit  the  veterinary 
hospital  about  five  miles  down  the  river,  and  when 
I  pulled  up  at  the  bank  at  the  end  of  about  ten 
breathless  minutes  I  found  the  commandant  wait- 
ing for  me.  He  said  that  he  was  sitting  in  his 
office  and  had  heard  me  start.  And  that  is  how 
fast  and  how  noisy  a  glisseur  is. 

Besides  the  glisseurs  and  goufas,  mahaylas  and 
dhows  innumerable,  there  are  the  monitors  and  tiny 
"fly-boats"  crouching  like  terriers  of  war  against 
either  bank. 

All  these  carry  anti-aircraft  guns,  and  when 
"Fritz  comes  over"  on  a  bombing-party — all  Turk- 
ish flying  men  are  German — they  get  busy  and 
make  a  noise  out  of  all  proportion  to  their  size. 
They  have  never  hurt  any  Fritzes  in  the  air  that 
anybody  knows  about,  but  they  bark  well. 

The  A.  D.  C.  and  I  climbed  ashore  up  the  steep 
clay  bank  opposite  G.  H.  Q.  and  found  our  motor- 
car waiting  for  us,  our  soldier  chauffeur  having  just 
begun  to  worry  himself  with  the  thought  that  he  had 
probably  misunderstood  his  orders  and  gone  to  the 
wrong  landing. 

But  he  had  not.     I  selected  that  landing  myself. 

323 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OP  THE  WORLD 

It  was  near  the  terminal  station  of  the  Berlin- 
to-Baghdad  Railroad,  and  I  was  interested  in  that. 
This  unprecedentedly  historic  railroad,  having 
been  completed  by  the  Germans  between  Samarra 
and  Baghdad,  is  now  the  main  line  of  communica- 
tion with  the  principal  British  front  in  Mesopo- 
tamia, and  its  business  end  is  there  at  the  Baghdad 
terminal,  where  acres  of  sidings  and  sheds,  long 
lines  of  freight-cars,  many  shunting  engines,  and 
hundreds  of  laborers  coming  and  going  in  the 
methodical  process  of  handling  supplies,  combine 
to  form  a  picture  which  could  hardly  be  expected 
to  please  any  German. 

And  from  the  terminal  of  the  Berlin-to-Baghdad 
Railroad  to  the  tomb  of  Zobeide,  favorite  wife  of 
Harun-al-Rashid ! 

One's  thoughts  travel  a  rapid  zigzag  course  from 
age  to  age  in  this  wonderful  land !  Though  in  con- 
nection with  the  little  that  is  left  of  old  Baghdad  it 
is  very  difficult  to  separate  fact  from  the  fascinat- 
ing fictions  that  abide  in  such  delightfully  hazy 
outlines  in  one's  memory. 

Zobeide,  however,  was  real  enough  and  one  is  told 
that  her  almost  perfectly  preserved  tomb  is  au- 
thentic. It  is  like  a  gigantic  yellow  pine  cone  and 
it  stands  at  the  far  end  of  a  great  Mohammedan 
cemetery  that  sprawls,  a  waste  of  ill-kept  mud- 
brick  mounds,  along  the  desert  roadway  that  leads 
to  Kazhi-main. 

After  skirting  the  cemetery, -this  road  runs  into 
the  queerest  little  highway  on  earth — a  highway 
which  follows  the  River  Tigris,  is  lined  on  either  side 
with  date-palms  and  dusty  ragged  gardens,  and  is 

324 


ACROSS  AN  AMAZING  RIVER 

distinguished  for  possessing  the  only  street-car 
track  in  the  country.  The  track  is  twenty-seven 
inches  wide  and  the  cars  are  narrow,  two-storied 
structures  unlike  anything  else  that  ever  ran  on 
wheels. 

The  cars  are  always  crowded  inside  and  out  with 
a  motley  throng  of  pilgrims  to  and  from  the  sacred- 
ness  of  the  ancient  mosque,  and  each  of  them  is 
pulled  rattlingly  and  recklessly  along  the  toy  track 
by  two  hot,  disgusted-looking,  knock-kneed  dwarf 
horses  that  lean  against  each  other  in  utter  dejec- 
tion every  time  they  are  told  to  stop,  and  whinny 
about  what  an  awful  place  the  hell  for  horses  is  and 
about  how  they  wish  they  had  been  good  before 
they  died  in  a  better  world  than  this. 

I  wondered  if  those  I  met  on  the  way  knew  that 
they  were  serving  nobody  but  the  faithful  and  that 
their  heavy  loads  of  chattering  humanity  had 
cleansed  themselves  at  holy  fountains  and  had 
prostrated  themselves  in  prayer  for  their  own 
souls?  Foolish  mental  meanderings  perhaps. 

Kazhi-main — the  beautiful  shining  thing  one  sees 
from  far  down  the  river — contains  the  tombs  of  two 
Imams  and  is  the  most  sacred  mosque  in  or  near 
Baghdad.  It  is  only  recently  that  Christians  have 
been  permitted  to  approach  even  within  sight  of 
its  outer  gate,  but  its  outer  gate,  decorated  in 
brilliantly  colored  Persian  mosaic  patterns,  is 
worth  going  far  to  see. 

Its  great  round  dome  and  lofty  minarets  are 
magnificently  proportioned  and  balanced,  the 
minarets  being  faced  with  Persian  mosaics, 
while  the  dome  is  overlaid  with  gold  leaf  that 
glistens  marvelously  in  the  sunlight. 
22  325 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

But  around  it  has  grown  up  a  town  that  for 
dirtiness  and  dinginess  and  narrowness  of  ar- 
caded  streets  is  the  worst  place  perhaps  in  all 
Mesopotamia. 

On  the  way  back  we  encountered  a  long  military 
convoy  lumbering  down  toward  the  bridge  head 
through  a  narrow  lane  between  the  high  mud  walls 
of  date-gardens,  and  we  saw  at  once  that  we  were 
due  to  be  held  up  there  in  the  fine  fluffy  dust  for 
two  hours  or  more.  The  convoy  was  using  the 
bridge  and  it  consisted  of  a  great  many  heavy  guns 
and  caissons,  only  a  certain  number  of  which  could 
be  sent  across  at  one  time. 

Dear  me!  What  a  hopeless  prospect!  And  it 
was  within  fifteen  minutes  of  luncheon-time.  But 
to  break  a  convoy?  .  .  . 

Once  more  the  fact  that  there  was  only  one  of 
me  and  that  it  was  therefore  impossible  for  me  to 
create  precedents  stood  me  in  good  stead.  The 
convoy  was  broken  and  we  were  let  in  between  two 
big  guns. 

Crossing  the  waving  and  teetering  pontoon  bridge 
would  have  been  ordinarily  quite  sufficiently  inter- 
esting; under  such  circumstances  it  became  posi- 
tively thrilling,  and  all  that  was  lacking  to  make  me 
feel  like  part  of  a  victorious  army  entering  a  capt- 
ured city  was  the  sound  of  the  guns  of  a  retreating 
enemy. 


MILITARY    CONVOY   IN  A  TYPICAL   MESOPOTAMIA!*    ROADWAY  THROUGH 
THE   DATE-GARDENS 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

RIGHTEOUS  MEN  AND    SONS   OF  INIQUITY 

'"PHE  junior  A.  D.  C.  and  I  went  one  afternoon 
•*•  for  a  browse  in  the  bazaars.  I  was  interested 
in  carpets.  I  wanted  to  find  a  really-truly  old 
historic  rug  of  a  vintage  that  would  be  mellowed 
and  hallowed  by  time.  Not  for  myself,  of  course, 
but  for  a  friend  who  can  afford  such  things  and  who 
had  asked  me  to  find  for  him  in  Baghdad — if  I  ever 
got  to  Baghdad — a  treasure  of  a  rug  to  add  to  his 
already  priceless  collection. 

"We'd  better  go  round  and  see  Colonel  Dick- 
son,"  said  the  A.  D.  C.  "He  knows  all  about 
where  everything  is." 

So  we  made  our  way  out  through  the  winding 
maze  of  narrow  passages  to  where  our  car  was 
waiting  at  the  head  of  New  Street,  and  pretty  soon, 
qn  a  byway  that  sloped  down  to  the  river-bank, 
we  were  stopping  before  the  entrance  to  a  long 
underground  corridor  dark  as  midnight. 

But  there  was  a  perfectly  good  Britisher  in 
khaki  waiting  with  a  lantern  to  conduct  us  through 
the  gloom,  and  I  wouldn't  hesitate  to  go  anywhere 
with  one  such  leading  the  way.  And  the  corridor 
was  not  underground,  after  all.  It  was  only  under 
the  buildings.  And  it  led  at  last  up  into  a  lovely 

327 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

garden — a  really  lovely  garden,  with  arbors  and 
vines  and  fresh-looking  palm-trees,  and  flaming 
hibiscus  against  mellow  brick  walls.  Along  two 
sides  of  the  garden  was  a  weird  kind  of  house, 
picturesquely  tumble-down  and  with  a  wide,  railed 
balcony  running  all  round  it  and  on  out  to  the  river 
wall. 

And  that  was  where  Colonel  Dickson  lived, 
Colonel  Dickson  being  Director  of  Local  Resources 
— which  aren't!  Or  which  weren't,  at  least.  He 
really  should  be  called  Discoverer  and  Developer 
of  Local  Resources — the  D.  D.  L.  R. 

Colonel  Dickson  is  a  South-African — a  man  of 
large  and  important  affairs — and  he  happened  to 
be  in  London  when  the  war  began.  As  he  tells  it 
himself,  he  divested  himself  with  a  single  gesture 
of  all  incumbrances,  then  ran  hot-foot  to  the  War 
Office  and  at  the  heads  of  the  powers  that  were 
hurled  an  offer  of  his  utmost  services.  To  keep 
him  quiet  they  permitted  him  for  the  first  year  or 
so  to  help  along  the  job  of  getting  mules  and  other 
burdensome  but  necessary  beasts  of  burden  into 
France.  Then  they  shanghaied  him  on  board  a 
troop-ship  and  landed  him  in  Mesopot,  where  they 
put  him  in  charge  of  the  job  of  rounding  up  the 
plentiful  lack  of  local  products. 

The  lack  was  quite  complete,  in  fact;  but  never 
mind — men  from  South  Africa  are  able  to  show  the 
world  how  to  do  almost  anything.  Colonel  Dick- 
son  was  convinced  that  the  British  army  was  set- 
tled in  Mesopotamia  for  a  prolonged  occupation;  he 
had  no  illusions  whatever  with  regard  to  the  dura- 
tion of  the  war;  and  nobody  could  tell  him  that  the 
country  could  not  be  made  to  support  itself. 

328 


RIGHTEOUS  MEN  AND  SONS  OF  INIQUITY 

He  went  at  once  into  rather  extensive  schemes 
of  irrigation,  and  by  way  of  samples  of  the  possi- 
bilities he  soon  had  a  dairy-farm  in  operation  and 
a  few  broad  acres  of  one-time  4esert  bright  with 
the  luscious  green  of  waving  alfalfa. 

He  organized  the  native  producers  and  instituted 
the  process  of  inducing  them  to  work  for  a  little 
more  than  their  daily  bread.  He  persuaded  them 
to  put  into  grain  every  acre  that  would  produce 
grain  and  encouraged  them  with  vivid  prophecies 
of  a  vast  prosperity.  And  when  I  met  him  he  was 
about  to  start  a  great  poultry-farm  at  Hilleh,  hard 
by  Babylon,  where  the  chickens  would  be  under 
military  discipline  imposed  by  an  army  officer  with 
the  rank  of  captain — no  less. 

"There's  only  one  rug  in  Baghdad  of  the  kind 
you  are  after,"  he  said,  "and  the  pleasing  little  price 
of  it  is  three  hundred  pounds.  George,  get  out  of 
here!  If  you  jump  on  my  desk  again  I'll  pull 
out  your  tail-feathers!  George!  He  thinks  he's 
a  dainty  little  ornament,  but  he's  a  regular  devas- 
tation!" 

"George"  being  a  magnificent  peacock  with  the 
manners  of  a  spoiled  and  inquisitive  child.  It  was 
George's  tea-time  and  it  was  his  habit  to  get  his 
tea  off  the  Colonel's  desk. 

"And  where  is  this  three-hundred-pound  treasure 
to  be  found?"  I  asked. 

"A  little  hunchback  Persian  Jew  down  in  the 
bazaar  owns  .  .  .  Look  here,  George,  if  you  don't 
get  out  of  here  I'll  get  the  fly-paper." 

George  turned  and  stalked  majestically  toward 
the  open  door,  while  the  Colonel  leaned  back  in  his 
swivel  chair  and  laughed. 

329 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

"  That  gets  him !"  he  said.  "  Wonderful  the  way 
that  bird  has  learned  English.  But  you  can't  in- 
duce him  to  acknowledge  that  he  knows  a  syllable 
of  German. 

"I  found  him  here  when  we  took  Baghdad.  I 
came  in  with  General  Maude,  and,  in  looking  round 
for  a  place  to  live,  I  chanced  on  this.  Rather  nice, 
eh?  It  was  absolutely  deserted.  Nobody  around 
but  George.  He  was  stalking  up  and  down  the 
garden,  and  I  said,  'Why,  good-morning,  George!' 
and  he  said,  '  Good-morning.'  And  that  was  how 
it  began.  My  only  objection  to  George  is  that,  like 
a  lot  of  people  I  know,  he  has  friendship  defined  as 
something  to  turn  solely  to  his  own  profit. 

"About  the  fly-paper.  One  of  the  servants  put 
a  lot  of  the  stuff  out  along  the  balcony  rail  one 
day  and  George  jumped  up  and  got  caught  in  it. 
It  took  us  half  a  day  to  get  near  him,  and  when 
we  did  he  was  ready  to  surrender.  He  certainly 
was  a  pitiful,  heartbroken  mess,  and  he's  never 
forgotten  it." 

"How  did  the  little  hunchback  come  by  the 
grand  rug?"  I  asked. 

"Stole  it,  probably.  He  says  it  was  found  in 
Kermanshah  and  that  it  was  pawned  there  by  a 
Persian  princess  who  needed  the  money.  It  was 
one  hundred  and  fifty  years  in  the  palace  of  the 
Shah  at  Teheran.  At  least  that's  what  he  says. 
In  any  case,  it's  a  rare  old  carpet  and  it's  the  only 
thing  in  Baghdad  worth  carrying  home." 

He  sent  with  us  his  own  Arab  factotum — a  man 
he  described  as  "a  jewel  of  honesty  and  intelli- 
gence " — and  as  we  made  our  way  back  through 
the  long  dark  corridor  I  heard  him  calling: 

330 


RIGHTEOUS  MEN  AND  SONS  OF  INIQUITY 

"Hussein!     I  say!     Hussein!" 
"Colonel  sahib!"  came  the  answer. 
"Bring  George's  tea!" 

We  came  finally  up  against  a  flat,  windowless 
house-front  under  the  somber  low  vaulting  of  an 
arcade,  and  crept  through  a  narrow  broken-down 
doorway  which  led  into  a  small  court  paved  with 
unevenly  laid  and  crumbling  sun-dried  bricks.  This 
court  was  open  at  the  top,  while  round  two  sides  of 
it,  half-way  up,  ran  a  railed  balcony.  The  balcony, 
the  walls,  and  the  banister  of  the  rickety  stairway 
were  hung  with  "antique  carpets.'*  That  was 
what  they  were  called  on  the  little  placards  that 
were  pinned  to  them,  but  a  cheaper,  more  tawdry, 
more  unsightly  collection  could  hardly  be  imagined. 

We  climbed  to  the  balcony  and  went  into  a  dingy 
little  room  the  walls  and  shelves  of  which  were 
decorated  with  a  lot  of  antique  junk  in  the  ham- 
mered-copper  line — pelican  coffee-pots,  trays,  water- 
jugs,  and  vases — and  there  we  were  met  by  two 
men.  One  was  the  hunchback — an  unmistakable 
Persian  Jew — and  the  other  was.  a  smug  person 
wearing  a  fez  and  a  gray  frock-coat  of  approximate 
European  cut. 

The  "jewel  of  honesty  and  intelligence"  com- 
municated the  information  that  we  were  there  to 
see  the  three-hundred-pound  carpet  and  I  rather 
expected  to  be  bowed  to  very  low  and  to  have  it 
trotted  right  out  for  me. 

Not  at  all.  One  would  have  thought  they  had 
customers  in  looking  for  three-hundred-pound  car- 
pets every  few  minutes,  and  they  made  a  to-do  as 
though  they  had  mislaid  it  or  didn't  know  which 

331 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

one  I  meant,  or  something.  One  rug  after  another 
was  brought  out  and  spread  on  the  slowly  accu- 
mulating pile  on  the  floor,  and  time  after  time  I 
asked,  "How  much?"  only  to  get  in  reply  the  most 
absurd  attempts  at  unintelligent  hold-up  that  I 
had  ever  encountered,  and  I  am  rather  familiar 
with  Oriental  contempt  for  Occidental  judgment. 

"I  could  buy  any  rug  we've  seen  from  any  New 
York  dealer  for  a  quarter  less,"  I  said,  "and  the 
New  York  dealer  would  have  to  be  counting  in 
duty  and  transportation  charges." 

"Yes,"  said  the  A.  D.  C.,  "but  think  of  the 
romance  of  buying  it  in  Baghdad,  and  at  a  time 
like  this!  That's  what  these  fellows  take  into  con- 
sideration. They  know  our  sentimentalities  bet- 
ter than  we  know  them  ourselves." 

At  last  the  three-hundred-pounder  was  brought 
out.  Fifteen  hundred  dollars!  Four  thousand 
five  hundred  rupees! 

I  was  ready  to  be  thrilled — expected  to  be  up- 
lifted by  the  magic  spell  of  divine  art;  tempted  by 
the  beauty  of  the  thing  almost  beyond  my  power 
to  remember  that  fifteen  hundred  dollars  is  a  good 
deal  of  another  person's  money  to  spend. 

I  was  so  safe  that  it  is  absurd  to  write  about  it. 

If  I  owned  the  rug  I  should  put  it  away  some- 
where in  a  safe-deposit  vault  where  I  could  boast 
about  it  without  ever  having  to  look  at  it.  I 
believe  absolutely  that  the  princess  pawned  it,  but 
I  think  she  did  it  because  she  was  shut  up  in  a 
harem  with  it  and  just  couldn't  stand  it  another 
minute.  Also  I  think  it  remains  on  the  hands 
of  the  little  hunchback-— offspring  of  generations  of 
scoundrels  who  staged  its  entrance  for  me  with 

332 


RIGHTEOUS  MEN  AND  SONS  OF  INIQUITY 

such  dramatic  skill — because  no  dealer  would  ever 
take  a  chance  on  it.  It  was  ancient,  right  enough; 
but  it  was  the  ugly  duckling  in  the  Persian-rug 
family,  and  it  had  in  it  a  combination  of  salmon 
pinks  and  sickly  yellows — all  fine  old  vegetable  dyes 
— that  would  spoil  the  appetite  of  an  anaconda. 

The  only  other  things  to  be  found  in  the  bazaars 
besides  carpets  and  hammered-copper  vessels  were 
Persian  lambskins  and  abahs. 

The  abah,  draping  the  head  and  shoulders  of  an 
Arab  woman,  is  a  colorful  and  rather  wonderful 
garment.  But  British  army  officers  buy  abahs  for 
their  beloved  women  at  home  with  an  idea  that 
they  will  make  "magnificent  opera-cloaks."  The 
best  of  them  cost  more  nowadays  than  the  finest 
French  brocade  in  the  same  quantity  would  cost, 
and,  being  rather  bizarrely  patterned  with  threads 
of  gold,  they  look  tawdry.  The  material  might 
yield  to  the  prayerful  efforts  of  an  Occidental  artist 
in  the  clothes-building  line,  but  I  doubt  it.  For 
myself,  I  should  always  feel  that  everybody  was 
staring  at  me  and  saying: 

"What  on  earth  has  that  .woman  got  on!" 

I  could  have  stood  for  hours  on  end  at  a  cross- 
ways  in  the  depths  of  the  bazaars  to  watch  the  end- 
less procession  and  to  listen  to  the  weird  sounds  by 
which  one's  ears  are  constantly  assailed.  The 
widest  street  is  hardly  more  than  ten  feet  across, 
and  in  the  softly  stepping  sandaled  throngs  that 
come  and  go  there  is  every  type  of  Oriental  face 
that  one  could  possibly  imagine  and  every  kind  of 
brightly  embroidered  and  full-flowing  costume  that 
Arabian  dreams  could  conceive.  Nor  would  a  pict- 

333 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

ure  of  the  bazaars  be  complete  if  one  forgot  to 
mention  the  long  strings  of  camels  and  donkeys — 
the  donkeys  quick-stepping  along  under  unbeliev- 
able burdens,  the  camels  moving  sedately  with 
supercilious  noses  sniffing  the  air  above  the  heads 
of  the  people. 

The  Turk,  of  course,  is  conspicuously  absent; 
but  one  has  suspicions  that  many  a  plausible- 
looking  "Arab"  lives  in  dread  of  the  possible  ordeal 
of  being  "scratched"  by  the  British  authorities. 
To  scratch  an  Arab  and  find  a  Turk  would  in 
ordinary  times  be  most  unusual,  but  the  times  have 
developed  the  useful  art  of  camouflage. 

On  my  second  day  in  Baghdad  the  Army  Com- 
mander asked  me  if  I  had  taken  the  cholera  inocu- 
lation. I  had  not. 

"You  wouldn't  mind  doing  it,  would  you?" 

"Not  at  all." 

"Then  we'll  have  a  little  party  after  dinner  this 
evening,"  he  said.  "I'll  have  a  doctor  come  in 
about  nine  o'clock." 

As  on  the  first  evening,  there  was  quite  a  large 
party  of  officers  at  dinner,  and  at  half  past  nine  I 
was  called  out  of  the  drawing-room  and  conducted 
to  a  small  alcove  where  a  medical  officer  was  wait- 
ing. He  attended  to  me  in  a  very  few  moments, 
and  afterward,  as  though  it  were  a  rather  amusing 
performance,  General  Maude  insisted  on  having 
everybody  else  inoculated.  Everybody  but  Gen- 
eral Maude.  He  never  would  take  it  himself, 
though  his  physician  had  been  urging  it  upon  him 
for  a  year.  His  curiously  unreasonable  excuse  was 
that  it  would  be  a  waste  of  serum  because  no  man 
of  his  age  ever  got  cholera! 

334 


RIGHTEOUS  MEN  AND  SONS  OF  INIQUITY 

There  was  very  little  cholera  in  Baghdad,  and  it 
had  never  appeared  in  a  particularly  virulent  form, 
but,  lest  an  epidemic  might  develop,  every  pos- 
sible measure  was  being  taken  to  stamp  it  out. 
There  were  a  few  cases  in  an  isolation  hospital  out- 
side the  walls,  and  a  quarantine  camp  for  suspects 
had  been  established  a  mile  or  so  down  the  river. 

Nobody  thought  much  about  it,  but  at  the  same 
time  every  precaution  was  taken  with  regard  to 
food,  the  supplies  that  came  on  the  Army  Com- 
mander's table  being  subjected  to  special  and  most 
careful  supervision. 

He  might  have  told  the  doctors  that  he  was  too 
well  taken  care  of  to  require  a  cholera  inoculation. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

A   UNIQUE   ENTERTAINMENT 

AT  dinner  one  evening  we  were  discussing,  as 
usual,  my  program  for  the  next  day,  and 
General  Maude  said  to  me: 

"How  would  you  like  to  see  'Hamlet*  played 
in  Arabic  by  Children  of  Israel  who  are  direct 
descendants  of  the  left-overs  from  the  Babylonian 
captivity?" 

I  thought  it  was  some  kind  of  complicated  jest 
and  answered  guardedly,  saying  something  about 
the  novelty  of  such  a  performance. 

"Novel  it  may  be,"  said  he,  "but  after  about  the 
first  round  it's  sure  to  be  a  beastly  bore.  In  a  weak 
moment  I  promised  to  be  present,  however,  so  I 
suppose  I  shall  have  to  go.  I  always  try  to  keep 
my  word.  It's  an  entertainment  being  given  by  a 
Jewish  school  to-morrow  night  and  they've  been 
getting  ready  for  it  for  weeks.  Amateurs!  And 
'Hamlet/  of  all  things!  I'd  like  to  have  you  go, 
but  not  unless  you  think  it  would  amuse  you." 

I  assured  him  that  however  slightly  I  might  be 
amused  I  was  bound  to  be  tremendously  inter- 
ested, and  that  I  should  like  very  much  to  go. 
Then  readily  enough  I  fell  in  with  a  plot  to  get 
away  at  the  end  of  the  first  act  in  spite  of  any- 

336 


A  UNIQUE  ENTERTAINMENT 

» 

thing  that  might  be  done  to  detain  us.  Little  we 
knew  .  .  .! 

We  left  the  house  at  half  past  eight.  And  it  was 
very  cold.  Not  being  an  A.  D.  C.,  and  having 
nothing  to  fear  from  the  big  man,  I  protested  against 
his  going  out  without  an  overcoat,  but  he  only 
laughed  and  refused  to  send  back  for  one.  Even 
so  he  did  not  consider  it  necessary  to  pretend  that 
he  was  comfortable.  He  was  cold  and  his  legs 
were  too  long  for  the  automobile  and  the  streets 
were  execrably  rough,  and,  as  I  have  said,  he  hated 
automobiles,  anyhow!  He  was  very  humorous 
about  it  and  we  started  off,  laughing  and  grumbling 
with  the  utmost  cheerfulness.  It  was  a  curious 
mood  for  General  Maude,  and  a  delightful  one. 

He  had  no  idea,  really,  where  we  were  going,  but 
the  A.  D.  C.  had,  and  along  the  entire  route  through 
the  city  the  guard  had  been  so  strengthened  that 
we  might  have  found  our  way  by  following  the  line 
of  pickets.  All  the  streets  except  the  wide  and 
brightly  lighted  New  Street  were  in  semi-darkness, 
but  our  side  lights  threw  long  rays  into  the  narrow 
passages,  while  behind  us  a  car  carrying  guardsmen 
had  a  search-light  which  seemed  to  fill  the  space 
all  round  us  with  a  curious  glow.  All  along  the 
line  one  sentry  after  another — click-click-click! — 
brought  his  heels  together  and  his  rifle  to  salute. 
It  was  rather  thrilling. 

The  ways  were  narrow  and  some  of  them  lay 
through  the  bazaars,  the  vaulting  and  walls  of 
which  gave  back  to  the  sounds  we  made  mysterious 
whispering  echoes.  Many  of  the  turns  were  so 
sharp  that  we  had  to  back  and  go  forward  and  back 
again  in  order  to  get  round  them.  And  in  all  the 

337 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

• 

city  there  was  not  a  sound  to  be  heard  except  the 
whir  of  our  own  engines,  our  own  voices,  and  the 
shuffle  and  click  of  sentries'  salutes. 

As  we  threaded  our  slow  and  jolting  way  through 
the  ever-changing  shadows  of  the  intricate  byways 
we  began  to  discuss  the  city's  lamentable  lack  of 
architectural  distinction  and  to  express  our  respec- 
tive opinions  of  the  dreamers  of  dreams  who  are 
able  to  repeople  the  mud-brick  Baghdad  of  to-day 
with  the  colorful  figures  which  move  through  the 
tales  of  the  Thousand  Nights. 

But  what  would  you,  under  just  such  circum- 
stances, when  suddenly  your  search-light  falls  upon 
a  Persian-blue-enameled  minaret  lifting  itself  in 
alluring  grace  above  a  battlemented  wall,  and  you 
pass  a  wide-arched  gateway  with  massive  closed 
gates  of  Lebanon  cedar,  barred  with  bands  of 
rusted  iron  and  studded  with  square,  time-pitted 
nail-heads,  which  Harun-al-Rashid  himself  must 
have  looked  upon?  Yes,  here  and  there  are  a  few 
suggestions  left,  we  agreed.  But  not  many. 

We  were  finally  halted  before  a  brilliantly  lighted 
doorway  in  the  narrowest  street  of  them  all,  and 
were  met  by  a  number  of  important-looking  persons 
in  misfit  European  clothes  and  fezzes.  They  were 
the  head-master  of  the  Jewish  school  and  a  dele- 
gation of  his  confreres.  They  led  us  through  the 
crowds  within  the  entrance  and  into  the  center  of 
the  most  extraordinary  scene  I  have  ever  looked 
upon. 

I  am  sure  General  Maude  had  no  idea  about  the 
kind  of  "show"  it  was  to  be,  because,  if  he  had 
known,  nothing  on  earth  would  have  induced  him 
to  go.  He  was  modest  to  the  point  of  timidity,  and 

338 


A  UNIQUE  ENTERTAINMENT 

if  he  had  been  told  that  in  the  r61e  of  a  conquering 
hero  he  was  to  meet  all  native  Baghdad  in  a  bright 
white  light  he  certainly  would  have  managed  at 
that  moment  to  be — somewhere  else.  .  .  . 

The  improvised  theater  was  an  open  oblong  court 
surrounded  by  high  balconied  houses.  The  first 
impression  one  got  was  of  gaudily  Oriental  mag- 
nificence. The  walls  were  hung  from  the  roofs  to 
the  ground  with  Persian  carpets,  while  stretching 
from  balcony  to  balcony  were  festoons  of  colored 
lights  and  gay  banners  and  pennants.  The  pave- 
ment, too,  was  covered  with  rugs,  while  the  stage, 
at  one  end  of  the  court,  was  built  of  them,  a  par- 
ticularly beautiful  one  forming  in  wide  folds  a  fine 
proscenium  arch.  Palms  and  plants  completed  the 
decorations. 

The  audience,  filling  every  inch  of  space,  even  to 
the  balconies  and  the  surrounding  windows,  was 
startlingly  colorful.  The  middle  of  the  court  was 
crowded  with  women  in  bright  silk  robes  and  abahs, 
and  our  attention  was  called  to  the  fact  that  they 
were  unveiled.  That  was  extraordinary.  It  was  the 
first  time  high-class  Baghdadi  women  had  ever  been 
known  to  appear  in  a  public  place  with  uncovered 
faces,  and  it  was  a  subtle  acknowledgement  of  the 
trustworthiness  of  the  British.  That  was  what  it 
was  intended  to  be. 

"Under  British  rule,"  said  one  man,  "our  women 
need  never  be  veiled." 

The  men  in  the  audience — Jews,  Persians,  Arabs, 
Kurds,  Syrians,  Chaldeans,  and  representatives  of  a 
dozen  Eastern  races,  were  all  in  their  finest  and  most 
elaborate  garments,  and  there  was  a  variety  in 

339 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

head-dress — tarboush,  Icuffiyeh,  turban,  and  Persian- 
lamb  cap — positively  bewildering. 

When  General  Maude  entered,  this  amazing 
throng  rose  to  its  feet  and  cheered  him  loudly  and 
long,  and  I  am  sure  that  any  one  observing  him  at 
the  moment  would  have  seen  a  look  of  pained  as- 
tonishment cross  his  face.  They  had  erected  a 
little  platform  for  him  in  the  center  of  the  first 
row  of  seats  directly  in  front  of  the  stage.  This 
was  covered  with  a  beautiful  Persian  carpet  and  the 
chair  he  had  to  occupy  was  draped  with  stiff 
brocade.  A  lower  and  less  pretentious  chair  had 
been  placed  beside  him  for  my  benefit,  and  I  sank 
into  it  with  a  sense  of  helpless  inability  to  escape 
from  a  situation  wherein  I  felt  I  was  conspicuously 
superfluous. 

A  good  half-hour  was  wasted  in  preliminary 
courtesies.  One  person  after  another  came  up  and 
greeted  the  General,  and  there  were  numerous  in- 
troductions. The  chief  rabbi  of  the  city,  a  large, 
black-bearded  man  in  long  silken  robes  and  a 
white-and-gold  turban,  took  a  seat  below  the  other 
end  of  the  little  platform  and  assisted  in  the  cere- 
monies, while  the  head-master,  a  typical  Baghdadi 
Jew  with  a  French  education  and  old-fashioned 
French  manners,  hovered  about  and  displayed  his 
pleasure  in  the  occasion  by  much  suave  gesticula- 
tion and  many  smiles.  Then  they  brought  a  small 
table  and  placed  it  before  the  Army  Commander 
and  me,  on  which  were  two  cups,  a  pot  of  coffee, 
a  bowl  of  sugar,  and  a  jug  of  milk. 

Before  the  recollection  of  that  one  must  pause  to 
speculate  and  wonder.  Yet  one  may  speculate  and 
wonder  for  all  time.  .  What  can  any  one  ever 

340 


A  UNIQUE  ENTERTAINMENT 

possibly  know?  As  I  write,  General  Maude  lies 
dead  in  a  desert  grave  outside  the  old  North  Gate, 
and  the  night  he  died  they  were  saying  boldly  and 
insistently  in  the  bazaars  that  he  was  murdered! 
He  drank  the  coffee  and  he  poured  into  it  a  large 
quantity  of  the  cold  raw  milk.  I  drank  the  coffee, 
too,  but  without  milk. 

When  we  looked  at  our  programs  we  discovered 
that  "Hamlet"  was  to  be  the  eleventh  number  and 
that  among  the  ten  other  numbers — children's 
dances  and  recitations,  odes,  choruses  and  solos — 
was  a  French  comedy  hi  three  acts.  All  in  one 
evening?  Impossible!  But,  yes! 

The  first  number  was  an  address  to  General 
Maude  delivered  in  French  by  a  little  Jewish  girl 
who  wore  a  white  muslin  frock  and  had  a  wreath 
of  pink  paper  roses  round  her  hair. 

She  read  the  address  from  a  piece  of  foolscap 
paper  which  shook  in  her  nervous  little  hand  until 
one  could  hear  it  rattle.  It  was  a  kind  of  eulogy 
of  the  Big  Chief  and  of  Britons  in  general  and  was 
full  of  references  to  Baghdad's  great  good  fortune 
in  having  come  at  last  under  honest  and  honorable 
government.  Perfectly  sincere,  too ! 

The  words  "  Mon  General"  occurred  with  great 
frequency,  and  every  time  the  child  pronounced 
them  she  thrust  one  foot  forward  and  made  a 
sweeping  gesture  with  her  left  arm.  It  was  very 
painful,  but  delightful  in  that  it  was  so  friendly, 
and  so  kindly  meant.  At  the  end  of  practically 
every  paragraph  the  audience  interrupted  with  vo- 
ciferous applause. 

Then  came  several  choruses  and  dances  done  by 
the  smallest  children  in  the  school.  Sweet  little 
23  341 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

tots  they  were,  too,  all  done  up  in  Frenchy  frocks 
with  many  paper  flowers  pinned  on  them.  They 
did  not  know  their  lines  in  the  least,  but  they  were 
so  charmingly  nonchalant  about  it  that  they  man- 
aged to  be  very  amusing. 

After  they  got  through  they  were  all  brought 
down  by  the  head-master  and  presented  to  the 
Army  Commander,  who  took  a  huge  delight  in 
shaking  their  baby  hands  and  telling  them  what 
fine  little  actresses  they  were.  Then  they  were 
permitted  to  do  exactly  as  they  liked  and  were  not 
restrained  even  when  they  wandered,  in  blissful 
unconsciousness  of  wrongdoing,  out  on  the  stage 
while  the  French  comedy  was  in  progress.  They 
got  in  the  way  of  the  grown-up  actors  and  divided 
with  them  the  attention  of  the  audience;  but  no- 
body seemed  to  mind. 

Altogether  it  was  the  most  astonishing  perform- 
ance I  ever  witnessed,  and  when  one  of  the  actors 
who  was  supposed  to  remain  seated  throughout  a 
long  act  got  suddenly  excited  and  rose  to  his  feet, 
thereby  disclosing  the  cramped  figure  of  the 
prompter  curled  up  under  his  chair,  I  began  to 
realize  that  I  was  greatly  amused  as  well  as  inter- 
ested. Unimaginable  setting  for  a  colossal  crime. 
.  .  .  Was  it  not?  The  General  laughed  with  the 
fullest  enjoyment,  and  I  think  he  did  not  realize 
the  lateness  of  the  hour.  He  was  always  in  his  bed 
by  ten  o'clock. 

It  was  eleven  o'clock  when  the  comedy  came  to 
an  end;  then  he  turned  to  me  and  said: 

"I  don't  think  we'd  better  stay  for  *  Hamlet,' 
do  you?" 

He  made  a  motion  to  rise,  but  instantly  the  head- 

342 


A  UNIQUE  ENTERTAINMENT 

master  was  upon  him,  urging  him  to  stay  for  the 
next  number,  because  it  was  to  be  a  chorus  sung  in 
Arabic  that  had  been  written  specially  for  him. 
So  we  stayed  and  were  interested  principally  by 
hearing  the  name  "Sir  Staneley  Mod"  breaking  a 
way  occasionally  through  a  long  barrage  of  high- 
pitched  and  curiously  syncopated  sound  made  by 
the  motliest  chorus  that  ever  stood  behind  a  row 
of  footlights.  The  members  of  the  "Hamlet"  cast 
were  all  in  evidence — Hamlet  in  buckled  shoes  and 
a  red-plumed  hat,  but  otherwise  black,  and  the 
King  with  a  gilded-paper  crown.  The  Titania  of 
one  of  the  dances  detached  herself  and  stood  off 
alone  that  she  might  shine  more  resplendently  in 
her  silver-starred  radiance. 

After  which  we  went  home,  wondering  at  and  dis- 
cussing the  character  of  a  people  who  could  make 
"Hamlet,"  in  all  its  acts  and  all  its  scenes,  the 
eleventh  item  in  an  evening's  entertainment. 

We  were  told  afterward  that  they  finished  at  four 
o'clock  in  the  morning. 


/COLONEL  DICKSON  was  going  down  to 
v->  Hilleh  with  an  armored  and  guarded  convoy 
to  bring  back  some  grain  and  to  attend  to  some 
details  with  regard  to  his  poultry-farm.  Hilleh  is 
within  a  few  miles  of  Babylon,  and  he  saw  no 
reason  why  I  should  not  be  permitted  to  accompany 
him.  A  sufficient  party  would  take  me  on  over  to 
Babylon  and  it  would  be  a  valuable  experience  for 
all  of  us. 

"No  reason  at  all  why  you  shouldn't  go!"  he  said. 
"We'll  be  strong  enough  to  meet  any  band  of 
Arabs  that  could  possibly  get  together.  You  ask 
the  Army  Commander  if  you  may  go." 

"Not  I!"  I  replied.  "He  told  me  I  was  not  to  go 
to  Babylon  and  he  told  me  why,  and  so  far  as  I 
am  concerned  that's  the  end  of  it.  I  never  could 
pluck  up  courage  enough  to  ask  him  again." 

"Well,  you  leave  it  to  me,"  said  he. 

And  I  was  quite  willing  to  do  so.  General  Maude 
was  wonderfully  good-natured;  he  had  a  specially 
warm  spot  in  his  heart  for  the  energetic  Colonel, 
and  the  Colonel  was  most  persuasive.  So  I  began 
at  once  to  regard  a  trip  to  Babylon  as  being  among 

344 


A  DAY'S  END 

the   almost   inevitable   events   of   the   immediate 
future. 

Colonel  Dickson  was  giving  a  dinner-party  that 
night  which  was  to  be  a  most  interesting  event. 
The  Army  Commander  seldom  dined  anywhere 
except  in  his  own  house,  but  he  had  accepted  the 
Colonel's  invitation  and  it  was  rumored  that  great 
preparations  were  going  forward  in  the  Colonel's 
mess.  I  imagine  that  nobody  who  was  present  at 
that  dinner  will  ever  forget  it. 

It  was  a  most  unusual  occurrence  for  General 
Maude  to  be  late  for  luncheon.  He  was  late  that 
day.  We  had  waited  about  fifteen  minutes,  when 
an  orderly  came  in  to  say  that  we  were  to  go  ahead 
without  him.  It  cast  a  gloom  upon  us,  though  I 
don't  know  why.  I  don't  know  why,  unless  it  was 
that  we  all  enjoyed  the  luncheon-hour  with  him  and 
disliked  having  it  broken  into.  There  was  always 
very  interesting  talk. 

About  fifteen  minutes  later  he  came  in  by  the 
terrace  entrance.  He  looked  tired  and  drawn,  but 
I  imagine  nobody  ever  thought  seriously  of  illness 
in  connection  with  him.  He  was  so  splendidly 
stalwart.  Even  then  he  was  in  excellent  spirits, 
as  he  usually  was,  but  he  rather  startled  us  with  an 
announcement  that  he  was  not  going  to  have  any 
lunch. 

"About  once  a  month,'*  he  said,  "I  find  it  does 
me  good  to  go  without  food  in  the  middle  of  the 
day." 

Then  he  leaned  on  the  back  of  his  chair  and  made 
some  characteristically  humorous  inquiries  about 

345 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

what  I  was  doing  and  how  I  was  getting  on.  I  had 
taken  a  glisseur  that  morning  and  had  gone  down- 
river to  see  a  large  veterinary  hospital  in  a  palm- 
garden.  I  was  full  of  enthusiasm  about  it,  but  I 
felt,  curiously,  that  something  was  wrong,  so  I 
had  little  to  say.  He  excused  himself  presently  and 
went  down  along  the  terrace  to  his  room.  And  I 
never  saw  him  again.  .  .  . 

As  soon  as  he  had  gone  I  remarked  that  he  looked 
very  ill,  but  was  assured  that  he  was  merely  tired. 
His  military  secretary,  Colonel  Williams,  did  say 
that  he  "would  soon  be  done  for"  if  he  didn't 
give  himself  a  short  leave.  He  had  not  had  a  day's 
leave  since  he  took  command  of  the  army. 

The  story  of  the  afternoon  I  got  from  others. 
After  a  while,  it  seems,  he  sent  for  Colonel  Willcox, 
the  consulting  physician  to  the  Expeditionary 
Force,  and  told  him  he  was  "feeling  a  bit  cheap'* 
and  needed  something  to  brace  him  up.  He  was 
sitting  at  his  desk  in  his  room,  working.  The 
Colonel  told  him  he  looked  like  a  man  on  the 
ragged  edge  and  that  he  must  knock  off  everything 
and  go  to  bed. 

"No,"  he  said,  "I  can't  do  that;  I'm  dining  with 
Dickson." 

He  would  not  submit  to  any  kind  of  examination 
and  merely  reiterated  that  he  was  "feeling  a  bit 
cheap." 

The  Colonel  did  what  he  could  at  the  moment  and 
at  seven  o'clock  he  went  in  again  to  see  him.  He 
was  still  sitting  at  his  desk.  Then  the  Colonel 
literally  ordered  him  to  get  his  clothes  off  and  get 
into  bed. 

346 


A  DAY'S  END 

"I  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  he  said.  "I'm 
going  to  Dickson's  dinner." 

Colonel  Willcox,  being  a  member  of  Colonel 
Dickson's  mess,  was  to  be  in  a  measure  a  joint 
host  at  this  party,  and  he  finally  took  courage  to 
tell  the  General  that  if  he  insisted  on  going,  he  him- 
self would  get  his  dinner  somewhere  else. 

"I  will  not  sanction  your  presence  there  by  sitting 
down  at  table  with  you." 

At  that  the  General  gave  in  and  consented  to 
stay  at  home  and  go  to  bed.  But  first  he  wrote  a 
note  to  Colonel  Dickson,  a  note  that  is  now,  of 
course,  among  that  officer's  treasured  possessions. 
He  railed  at  the  doctor  a  bit,  said  he  wanted  very 
much  to  be  at  the  dinner,  but  was  not  allowed  to 
go,  then  added: 

"  Take  care  of  my  guest.  I  know  you  will.  And 
don't  talk  to  her  about  going  to  Babylon.  She 
must  not  go  there  and  she  quite  understands." 

When  he  laid  down  his  pen  his  life's  work  was 
over.  He  had  signed  his  name  for  the  last  time. 

I  went  to  the  dinner  with  the  junior  A.  D.  C., 
and  we  had  not  been  seated  at  table  more  than 
ten  minutes  when  an  orderly  came  in  with  a  mes- 
sage for  Colonel  Willcox,  who  got  up  and  left 
immediately 

It  was  a  splendid  company  of  men  and  a  most 
interesting  party.  The  Red  Cross  band,  stationed 
at  the  far  end  of  the  balcony,  played  a  rather 
extraordinary  program  which  the  Colonel  had  had 
printed.  For  the  times  and  the  place  there  was 
an  elaborate  menu,  and  a  young  artist  member  of 
the  mess  had  drawn  cartoons  on  the  menu-cards, 
each  one  of  which  struck  very  cleverly  at  some 

347 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

characteristic  of  the  guest  for  whom  it  was  in- 
tended. It  was  a  jolly  party  and  there  was  con- 
siderable comment  about  the  superior  advantages 
to  be  enjoyed  by  a  Director  of  Local  Resources. 

He  had  exhausted  the  possibilities  of  local  re- 
sources to  make  the  dinner  a  success.  And  he  had 
done  it  principally  for  the  Army  Commander.  But 
the  Army  Commander  was — not  there. 

The  A.  D.  C.  and  I  drove  up  in  front  of  our  own 
house  about  eleven  o'clock.  We  were  quite  hap- 
pily discussing  the  party — a  most  unusual  event  in 
Baghdad,  remember — and  were  laughing  about 
things  that  had  been  said  and  done. 

Colonel  Williams  came  hurrying  down  the  path 
from  the  doorway  to  meet  us,  and  there  was  a 
sudden  hush.  The  Army  Commander,  he  said,  was 
very  ill. 

The  younger  A.  D.  C. — and  very  young — was 
closer  to  his  chief  than  any  one  else,  loving  him 
devotedly. 

"WTiat  is  it?"  he  asked,  presently. 

"Cholera — in  its  most  virulent  form!"  said  the 
Colonel. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE   LAST   POST 


Batteries  have  told  the  listening  town  this  day 

That  through  her  ancient  gate  to  his  last  resting-place 

Maude  has  gone  north. 

COLONEL  DICKSON. 


WHEN  the  city  learned  next  morning  that  the 
Army  Commander  was  seriously  ill  an  all- 
pervading  hush  descended  upon  it.  I  passed  out  of 
the  house  of  imminent  danger — sent  away  by  those 
who  wished  to  save  me  from  a  period  of  quarantine 
— and  went  back  aboard  the  S-l,  which  still  lay  at 
anchor  in  the  river.  As  I  walked  through  the  gar- 
dens of  General  Headquarters  on  my  way  to  the 
boat  landing  I  met  groups  of  officers  who  were  dis- 
cussing the  grim  possibilities.  The  question  they 
were  asking  was: 

"If  he  dies  who  will  *  carry  on'?" 

The  solemnity  of  such  a  question  can  hardly  be 
realized  by  any  one  who  is  not  familiar  with  the 
quality  of  the  influence  exercised  by  an  idolized 
Army  Commander  in  a  theater  of  war.  General 
Maude  had  brought  the  Mesopotamian  Expedi- 
tionary Force  out  of  chaos  and  had  led  it  on  to 
unqualified  victory;  his  name  was  a  name  to  con- 
jure with.  Nobody  knew  that  better  than  the 

349 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

enemy.  He  inspired  the  force  with  a  happy  con- 
fidence which  made  itself  felt  throughout  the  whole 
field  of  operations  from  the  Persian  Gulf  to  the 
last  lonely  outpost  on  the  far-flung  circle  of  defense, 
and  to  have  him  removed  was  like  shutting  off  the 
current  in  a  vast  system  of  gloriously  electric  enter- 
prise. The  thought  in  most  minds — a  thought  very 
frequently  expressed — was: 

"Could  anything  exceed  the  luck  of  tne 
Germans!" 

But,  strangely  enough  and  fortunately,  no  man 
is  indispensable.  That  afternoon  they  telegraphed 
for  Lieut.-Gen.  Sir  William  Marshall,  and  he  came 
in  from  the  eastern  front. 

The  last  time  the  Army  Commander  roused  nim- 
self  at  all  was  to  say  to  his  military  secretary : 

"Tell  them  I  can't  come  to  the  office  to-day. 
They  must  just  'carry  on9!" 

The  evening  of  the  third  day  he  died. 

General  MacMunn's  A.  D.  C.  and  I  had  taken  a 
launch  and  had  spent  an  hour  or  more  plying  up 
and  down  the  fascinating  river  into  which  the  sun- 
set colors  melt  so  marvelously,  but  we  did  this  for 
no  reason  and  to  no  purpose  but  to  get  rid  of 
lingering  time  and  to  escape  for  a  little  while  the 
necessity  for  merely  waiting — waiting — with  our 
eyes  fixed  on  the  house  a  few  yards  away  where 
we  knew  the  tremendous,  hopeless  fight  was  being 
made.  WTien  we  got  back  aboard  the  S-l  I  found 
my  servant  Ezekiel  crouched  in  the  doorway  of  my 
cabin.  His  face  was  buried  in  his  arms  and  he  was 
weeping. 

350 


THE  LAST  POST 

'Oh,  lady  sahib!    lady  sahib!     England's  great 


man!" 

That  was  all.  I  thought  it  rather  wonderful.  He 
had  made  friends  with  General  Maude's  Indian  but- 
ler and  had  had  the  freedom  of  the  house  all  the  time. 

Early  next  morning  the  boom  of  minute  guns 
began  to  roll  across  the  city  from  one  direction  and 
then  another.  The  sun  rose  upon  the  British  flag 
half-masted  in  the  midst  of  war. 

The  only  other  flag  flying  in  Baghdad  was  the 
American,  and  the  banner  of  our  love,  floating  from 
its  staff  on  the  roof  of  our  Consulate  next  to  the 
Army  Commander's  house,  drooped  its  folds  on  a 
level  with  the  Union  Jack.  And  I  felt  then,  with  a 
thrill  of  pride,  that  the  two  stood  prophetically 
sentinel  over  the  high  destinies  of  humanity  which 
he  who  lay  beneath  them  could  no  longer  help  to 
direct.  Together  to-day,  I  thought,  they  pay 
honor  to  the  honored  dead.  Throughout  the  world 
hereafter  together  they  will  "carry  on" — equally 
clean  and  lofty  in  purpose  and  principle;  each 
resplendent  with  unconquerable  power! 

It  was  about  midday  that  "Fritz  came  across  to 
pay  his  respects."  There  had  been  so  many  guns 
throughout  the  morning  that  I  did  not  instantly 
recognize  the  difference,  but  it  took  me  only  a 
moment  to  realize  that  such  a  quick  succession  of 
shots,  and  from  every  direction  at  once,  could 
never  be  intended  as  a  salute  for  the  dead.  I  was 
sitting  in  my  cabin  on  the  S-l  and  rushed  out  on 
deck  just  in  time  to  see  him  directly  over  G.  H.  Q., 
and  flying  fairly  low. 

351 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

He  passed  over  our  helpless  old  boat  and  we  had 
a  breathless  moment  wondering  if  he  would  drop 
something  on  us.  All  the  monitors  and  little 
"fly-boats"  down  along  the  banks  were  roaring  at 
him,  but  he  got  across  all  right,  and  we  watched 
him  as  long  as  he  was  in  sight.  He  was  flying  west- 
ward toward  the  Euphrates  front,  with  every  gun 
in  the  vicinity  blazing  away  at  him,  and  with  a 
sufficient  accuracy  of  range  at  least  to  ring  him 
about  with  feathery  white  smoke  puffs  of  exploding 
shells. 

We  wondered  then  if  this  untimely  visit  had  any 
special  significance.  Did  the  enemy  know  that  the 
Aj*my  Commander  was  dead?  The  news  had  been 
flashed  to  the  world  and  there  was  little  reason  to 
hope  that  the  German  operators  had  not  picked  it 
up.  We  only  hoped  that  our  own  operators  had 
not  mentioned  the  name  of  the  terrible  disease  that 
killed  him.  If  the  Turks  and  Germans  knew  he 
died  of  cholera  it  would  be  natural  for  them  to 
suppose  that  Baghdad  was  in  the  grip  of  a  terrific 
epidemic. 

But  no,  the  visit  of  Fritz  had  no  special  signifi- 
cance. He  had  merely  been  over  bombing  the 
eastern  front.  He  had  dropped  a  few  bombs  on  a 
cavalry  encampment  and  had  done  considerable 
damage.  But  at  the  moment  he  could  not  figure 
even  as  an  incident.  On  the  British  side  the 
usually  taut  muscles  of  war  were  relaxed  and  the 
only  thought  in  any  man's  mind  was  of  immediate 
incalculable  loss. 

There  was  no  suspicion  then  that  General  Maude 
had  been  murdered.  At  least  no  Englishman  ex- 

352 


THE  LAST  POST 

pressed  such  suspicion;  though  the  native  popula- 
tion was  already  whispering  the  sinister  gossip. 

They  asked  me  afterward,  hi  their  mere  per- 
plexity over  the  fact  that  he  was  stricken  with  the 
disease  in  an  unprecedentedly  virulent  form,  what 
he  had  taken  at  the  entertainment  at  the  Jewish 
school.  I  told  them.  And  then  they  thought  they 
knew.  The  disease  developed  within  the  right 
period  of  hours  after  he  alone  drank  that  coffee 
and  that  milk. 

It  is  not  true,  as  has  been  said,  that  the  coffee 
was  a  cup  of  particular  ceremony  and  that  he  was 
compelled  by  respect  for  custom  to  drink  it.  It  was 
placed  before  him  as  a  usual  and  to-be-expected 
courtesy.  He  could  drink  it  or  not,  as  he  liked.  He 
was  interested  in  the  performance  and  in  what  was 
going  on  around  him.  He  was  smiling  with  genuine 
pleasure  upon  the  pretty  girl  babies  of  a  city  he 
dominated  for  England  with  so  kindly  a  feeling  that 
he  would  not  have  realized  that  it  was  domination. 
I  am  sure  he  had  no  thought  that  night  of  enmity 
or  distrust.  He  drank  his  coffee  with  a  free  and 
unthinking  gesture,  as  he  would  have  taken  after- 
dinner  coffee  in  the  house  of  a  friend. 

I  make  this  explanation,  which  I  believe  to  be 
absolutely  correct,  because  I  have  been  asked  so 
often,  Why — why  did  he  do  it? 

Why?  Because  he  was  a  gentleman  and,  as  a 
gentleman  naturally  would  on  such  an  occasion,  he 
had  relaxed  for  the  moment  a  necessarily  rigid 
vigilance. 

I  should  like  to  say,  too,  that  to  me  it  seems  very 
strange  that  I  should  be  writing  all  this.  It  was  by 
the  merest  chance  that  I  was  there — his  guest  when 

353 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

he  died — and  through  it  all  I  felt,  as  I  feel  now, 
curiously  like  an  intruder  upon  the  scene  of  a  great 
historic  event  with  which,  if  there  be  an  eternal 
fitness  of  things,  I  could  have  no  possible  connection. 

He  was  buried  with  spectacular  simplicity. 

A  deep  silence  lay  upon  the  town.  The  street 
through  which  his  body  was  carried  to  the  North 
Gate  was  banked  on  either  side  to  the  very  roofs 
with  a  dark-robed  multitude  of  men  and  women 
who  seemed  not  to  move  at  all  and  who  spoke  in 
whispers. 

Outside  the  walls,  in  the  midst  of  illimitable 
reaches  of  blank  desolation,  they  have  made  a  new 
cemetery  for  British  dead,  and  from  the  North 
Gate  a  roadway  is  flung  out  to  it  in  a  wide  curve 
round  an  area  of  pitted  and  city-disturbed  desert. 

This  roadway  was  lined  with  Indian  troops, 
standing  at  ease,  when  I  passed  through  with  the 
American  consul.  We  went  on  to  the  bleak,  unbe- 
lievable cemetery,  in  which  there  are  always  rows 
upon  rows  of  ready  and  waiting  graves,  and  stood 
with  the  representatives  of  all  the  divisions  of  the 
army  and  all  the  services  of  war,  beside  the  grave 
that  had  been  prepared  for  the  Army  Commander. 

And  from  there  we  watched  the  slow  approach 
of  the  sad  burden,  draped  in  the  folds  of  the  Union 
Jack  and  carried  aloft  from  the  North  Gate  on  the 
shoulders  of  men. 

In  the  stillness  of  the  desert  we  could  hear  the 
subdued  commands  of  officers  and  the  quiet,  precise 
salute — "Present !  Arms!" — rustling  wave  on  wave, 
rank  by  rank,  down  the  long  unbroken  columns  of 
the  honor  guard. 

354 


THE  LAST  POST 

Slowly,  reverently,  they  lowered  the  coffin  to  the 
trestle  over  the  grave,  then — a  low,  sweet  monotone 
of  prayer  floating  out  over  the  bowed  heads  of  a 
uniformed  and  war-accoutred  throng — "dust  to 
dust" — the  peace  and  grace  of  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ  for  evermore — the  last  rifle  volleys  and, 
finally,  the  reverberating  blare  of  many  trumpets 
rolling  out  across  the  boundless  gray  waste  the 
heart-chilling  melody  of  the  "Last  Post." 

It  is  a  desert  burial-ground  far  from  the  Home- 
land. He  lies  in  the  circular  center  space  that  was 
left  as  a  site  for  a  monument,  and  he  will  lie  there 
always — Maude  of  Baghdad.  And  over  his  grave 
the  monument  will  one  day  be  raised — to  him  and 
to  his  army  that  is  with  him. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

AND   THEN 

I  CANNOT  believe  that  any  one  took  up  again 
the  burden  of  "the  day's  work"  at  that  day's 
end  without  a  sense  of  added  burden.  But,  after 
all,  it  was  just  that  one  more  of  England's  men  had 
died.  England's  men  would  carry  on. 

Lieut.-Gen.  Sir  William  Marshall,  then  corps 
commander  on  the  eastern  front,  was  appointed  to 
succeed  General  Maude  in  full  command  of  the 
Mesopotamian  Expeditionary  Force,  and,  because 
of  my  own  tremendous  interest  in  all  that  has  been 
done  and  is  being  done  in  Mesopotamia,  because  I 
had  come  to  realize  the  importance  of  the  Mesopo- 
tamian zone  in  the  great  scheme  of  world-defense, 
I  was  glad  to  be  able  to  associate  General  Marshall 
in  my  own  mind  with  General  Maude's  expressed 
opinion  of  him. 

I  was  going  out  one  day  to  have  luncheon  with 
him  at  his  field  headquarters  on  the  eastern  front, 
and  to  see  what  could  be  shown  to  me  in  his 
sphere  of  operations — forty  miles  or  more  across  the 
desert  to  the  northeastward  from  Baghdad.  The 
evening  before,  General  Maude  was  discussing  with 
me  at  dinner,  as  he  always  did,  the  details  of  the 
plans  that  had  been  made  for  me. 

356 


AND  THEN 

"You  are  going  to-morrow,"  he  said,  "to  visit  a 
far  better  soldier  than  I  am." 

It  was  a  startling  remark,  but  if  I  had  had  any 
impulse  to  make  a  banal  response  his  perfect  seri- 
ousness would  have  checked  it. 

"That  is  generous  of  you,"  I  replied. 

"Generous?  Not  at  all!  Merely  intelligent. 
He's  a  splendid  officer.  Wish  I  were  hah*  as 
capable.  But  this  being  an  office  man — !  I  envy 
huii  his  service  in  the  field.  A  man  likes  to  be  with 
the  troops,  you  know.  When  I  was  a  division 
commander  I  had  my  best  days.  Best  I  ever  had 
or  ever  will  have.  But  don't  you  forget  what  I  tell 
you  about  General  Marshall.  He's  a  great  soldier." 

General  Marshall  assumed  temporary  command 
while  the  big  fight  was  being  made  for  General 
Maude's  life.  Then  came  the  day  when  the  drums 
were  muffled  and  the  guns  were  made  to  speak 
their  measured,  heart-chilling  tribute  to  the  dead, 
but — it  was  as  though  the  armies  lost  never  a  step. 
General  Marshall  had  taken  up  the  burden. 

The  Army  Commander's  last  order  was: 

"Carry  on!" 

An  order  to  be  obeyed! 

After  a  few  days  I  started  back  down  the  River 
Tigris — a  long  journey;  back  past  the  historic 
landmarks;  past  the  looming  Arch  of  Ctesiphon; 
past  old  Kut  of  thrilling  memories  and  new  Kut 
of  the  bright  lights  and  the  never-ending  toil; 
past  the  ghastly  waste  of  Sunnaiyat;  past  Amara 
with  its  acres  of  hospitals;  past  marching-posts  at 
the  river's  edge;  through  the  vast  silence  of  the 
great  desert  where  the  tents  of  Bedouin  encamp- 

24  357 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

merits  show  black  against  the  burning  lights  of 
sunset;  past  the  unending  procession  of  boats 
carrying  supplies  up-river  to  the  far-away  armies; 
round  the  wonderful  Devil's  Elbow  in  the  amazing 
Narrows;  past  Ezra's  tomb  with  its  blue  dome 
lifted  under  a  bending,  caressing  palm-tree;  past 
the  un-Eden-like  Garden  of  Eden;  and  so — once 
more  into  the  broad  Shatt-el-Arab  and  back  again 
at  the  house  on  the  Bund  where  live  the  officers  of 
the  Lines  of  Communication. 

Then  a  trip  up  the  Euphrates  to  the  British 
position  at  Nasriyeh,  an  expedition  into  the  desert 
to  the  mounded  ruins  of  Ur  of  the  Chaldees,  and 
the  date  came  round  which  had  been  fixed  in  my 
permit  as  the  limit  of  my  stay  in  the  Land  of  the 
Two  Rivers. 

But  with  characteristic  generosity,  and  over 
the  heads  of  the  omnipotent  powers,  the  I.  G.  C. 
decided  that  I  should  have  two  days  more  in  order 
that  I  might  witness  the  decoration  of  an  Arabian 
knight  with  the  Grand  Cross  of  the  Most  Eminent 
Order  of  the  Indian  Empire. 

This  honor  had  been  conferred  upon  His  Excel- 
lency the  Sheikh  of  Muhammerah,  and  the  cere- 
mony of  investiture  was  to  take  place  at  his  river- 
side palace  down  on  the  Shatt-el-Arab. 

It  does  not  seem  fitting,  does  it,  that  Arab 
chieftains  should  live  in  palaces?  They  should 
dwell  instead  in  the  wilds  of  a  wind-swept  desert 
under  wide-spreading  tents  of  camels'  hair  and 
goatskin,  hung  within  with  priceless  carpets  and 
the  colorful  fabrics  of  one's  ideal  East.  But  the 
Arab  chieftains  are  in  manv  ways  modern  and 

858 


AND  THEN 

"forward-looking"  men,  Sir  Khazal  Khan,  Sheikh 
of  Muhammerah,  being  the  principal  leader  in  the 
Arab  advance,  under  British  direction,  toward  bet- 
ter conceptions  of  life  and  civilization. 

Even  so,  he  has  surrendered  none  of  the  ancient 
usages  of  his  people,  nor  has  he  suffered  any  reduc- 
tion or  modification  of  his  Oriental  picturesqueness. 

Though  in  a  measure  he  has,  come  to  think  of  it. 
The  public  apartments  of  his  great  palace  are 
furnished  for  the  most  part  with  plush-upholstered 
"parlor  suites"  and  other  Occidental  abominations. 

The  party  from  Basra  was  to  go  down  to  the 
palace  on  H.  M.  S.  Lawrence  as  guests  of  Admiral 
D.  St.  A.  Wake,  C.B.,  who  was  in  command  of  the 
fleet  in  the  Persian  Gulf.  But  when  the  Sheikh 
learned  that  he  had  invited  some  women  there  was 
a  considerable  to-do  about  it.  Women?  Impos- 
sible! His  Excellency  demurred  with  the  utmost 
vehemence  and  declared  it  to  be  quite  out  of  the 
question  that  women  should  be  included  among  the 
witnesses  of  the  momentous  ceremony.  How  could 
they  be?  Never  in  his  life  had  he  received  a  woman 
in  his  palace,  and  now,  if  ever,  the  eyes  of  his  people 
were  upon  him.  All  his  own  wives  were  veiled  and 
hidden  away  behind  the  latticed  windows  of  his 
harem;  not  even  his  favorite  wife  could  be  present; 
and  if  there  were  to  be  women  invited  there  should 
be  women  to  receive  them.  No,  the  customs  of  his 
people  would  have  to  be  respected.  He  was  very 
sorry,  but  he  was  quite  sure  the  foreign  ladies 
would  understand. 

The  foreign  ladies  had  a  friend  at  court.  The 
D.  P.  C.  had  gone  down  a  day  in  advance  of  the 

359 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

party  to  put  the  Sheikh  through  a  rehearsal  and  to 
make  preliminary  arrangements  for  the  occasion, 
and  he  put  in  a  strong  plea  for  us.  I  can  imagine 
his  method  of  procedure.  His  argument  would 
have  been  that  it  was  a  unique  occasion  and  for 
that  reason  His  Excellency  might  safely  yield  a 
point  to  foreign  custom  without  fear  of  incurring 
the  displeasure  of  his  own  people.  And  since  the 
D.  P.  C.  was  an  old  friend,  I  can  hear  him  adding: 
"Besides,  why  be  so  old-fashioned?" 
It  took  the  Sheikh  quite  a  while  to  make  up  his 
mind,  but  finally  he  gave  in.  Then  he  decided  that 
as  long  as  he  was  breaking  precedents  it  would  be 
as  well  to  make  a  thorough  job  of  it,  and  on  his  own 
initiative  he  invited  the  two  foreign  women  at 
Muhammerah  and  the  wives  of  the  men  who  live 
at  Abadan  and  carry  on  the  great  business  of  the 
Anglo-Persian  Oil  Company. 

The  palace  is  about  twenty  miles  down  the 
Shatt-el-Arab  from  Basra,  while  Abadan  is  about 
twenty  miles  farther  on,  with  the  town  of  Muham- 
merah lying  half-way  between  them  at  the  mouth 
of  the  Karun  River. 

We  had  to  be  about  betimes  that  morning,  be- 
cause the  Admiral  said  the  Lawrence  would  have  to 
up-anchor  shortly  after  eight.  It  was  to  be  a 
ceremony  in  the  King's  name,  so  nothing  could  be 
left  to  chance.  We  should  have  to  be  down  in 
time  to  see  that  the  scene  was  properly  set  and 
that  all  preparations  were  completed. 

It  was  chillingly  cold,  the  kind  of  cold  that 
penetrates  to  one's  chill-centers,  but  lacks  even  a 
suggestion  of  invigorating  snap.  And  the  sky  was 

360 


AND  THEN 

overcast  with  low-hanging  clouds,  the  first  any  one 
had  seen  for  more  than  eight  months! 

"Just  our  luck,"  said  the  General,  "to  have 
chosen  for  our  big  show  the  first  rainy  day  in 
modern  times.  Do  hope  it  holds  off  until  we  get 
through." 

The  General  was  thinking  of  personal  comfort  at 
the  moment,  while  the  Admiral,  who  also  had  his 
eye  on  the  weather,  was  probably  interested  in  the 
acre  or  so  of  bunting  he  had  out  on  the  Lawrence. 

But  we  learned  afterward  that  the  Sheikh  had 
greeted  the  cloudy  morning  with  joy  and  thanks- 
giving and  that  he  had  spent  the  whole  of  it  watch- 
ing the  signs  overhead  and  praying  that  something 
might  come  of  them.  His  people  were  threatened 
with  famine  because  of  the  fearful  drought.  Their 
fields  were  parched;  the  crops  were  dried  up;  no 
kind  of  planting  could  be  undertaken;  and  even  the 
date-gardens  were  suffering  because  the  water  in 
the  rivers  was  so  abnormally  low  that  irrigation  had 
become  meager  and  difficult.  If  the  rains  would 
only  begin  on  this  great  day  when  he  was  being  so 
tremendously  honored  by  the  King-Emperor  of 
England  and  India  his  people  would  regard  it  as  a 
benediction  from  Allah  on  High  and  his  prestige 
would  be  immeasurably  enhanced.  All  in  the  point 
of  view! 

A  quaint  old  ship  is  the  Lawrence — built  away 
back  sometime  in  the  nineteenth  century.  She  has 
high  decks  and  a  curious  square-cut  stern,  the 
ports  in  which  look  like  tiny  cottage  windows. 
They  are  draped  with  tassel-bordered  curtains 
caught  back  with  silken  cords.  She  looks  little 
enough  like  a  fighting-ship,  but  she  mounts  some 

361 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

fine  modern  guns,  nevertheless,  and  in  connection 
with  recent  events  she  has  been  exceedingly  useful. 
Everybody  loves  her. 

And  she  did  look  gay  and  festive  that  morning. 
Under  an  awning  of  the  flags  of  the  Allied  nations 
which  was  stretched  over  the  after  deck  the  Ad- 
miral had  spread  many  rugs  and  had  set  chairs  and 
couches  in  t^te-a-tete  and  other  nice  arrangements 
to  make  a  place  of  reception  and  comfort  for  his 
guests,  while  round  a  gun  a  hollow-square  luncheon 
table  had  been  built  and  gaily  decorated.  The 
Admiral's  part  in  the  program  was  to  be  the  firing 
of  a  salute  at  the  conclusion  of  the  ceremony. 

The  unwieldy  old  gunboat  made  a  very  difficult 
way  through  the  too-numerous  craft  of  all  kinds 
lying  at  anchor  or  moving  swiftly  about  in  the  river 
at  Basra;  then  slowly  enough  we  slipped  down  the 
twenty  miles  of  wide  channel,  past  the  date- 
plantations,  gray  and  drooping  with  an  accumu- 
lated burden  of  dust;  past  a  dozen  and  one  narrow, 
enticing  creeks  where  one  knew  the  orioles  and  king- 
fishers were  playing  in  the  tangled  vines;  past  the 
ships  the  Turks  sank  to  no  purpose  in  the  stream; 
and  past  an  up-river  procession  of  cargo-carriers, 
troop-ships,  and  hospital-ships  from  overseas.  As 
the  morning  wore  on  the  clouds  gathered  in  banks 
along  the  southwest  horizon,  and  the  chill  in  the 
air  began  to  give  way  before  the  warming-up 
processes  of  the  sun. 

"It  isn't  going  to  rain,  after  all,"  said  the  Gen- 
eral. He  was  to  make  the  great  speech  in  the  King's 
name,  and  was  marching  up  and  down  the  deck, 
practising  it,  much,  I  would  say,  after  the  manner 
of  a  big,  overgrown  school-boy. 

362 


AND  THEN 

"'In  the  name  of  His  Majesty,  the  King-Em- 
peror— ! '  Oh,  hang  it  all !  '  In  recognition  of  your 
valued — '  I  say,  I  wish  somebody  else  had  to  do 
this!  But  I'm  not  going  to  read  it;  I'm  going  to 
speak  it!'* 

He  could  have  extemporized  quite  freely  and 
easily,  but  the  speech  had  to  be  written,  and 
spoken  as  it  was  written,  because  it  would  have  to 
be  translated  into  Persian  for  the  benefit  of  the 
Sheikh,  who  speaks  no  English. 

It  was  a  great  day  for  the  tribes  of  Muhammerah, 
and  a  greater  day  for  their  chief.  As  we  rounded  a 
big  bend  in  the  river  his  palace  came  into  view,  and 
I,  for  one,  was  seized  with  the  kind  of  excitement 
with  which  an  insane  and  unsafe  Fourth  of  July 
used  to  fill  me  in  my  uncareful  childhood.  The 
palace  was  draped  in  bunting,  as  our  gunboat  was, 
and  from  corner  to  corner  of  the  flat  roof  a  thousand 
pennants  and  streamers  flapped  and  fluttered  and 
curled  in  the  breeze. 

In  the  river  lay  the  Persian  navy.  All  of  it! 
And  a  most  unseaworthy-looking  old  craft  it  ap- 
peared to  be.  A  cruiser  of  the  vintage  of  about 
1888,  it  was  purchased  for  Persia  by  some  patriotic 
statesman,  no  doubt,  who  needed  the  difference  be- 
tween what  he  said  he  paid  for  it  and  what  it  really 
cost.  Among  other  things,  it  lacked  a  coat  of  paint, 
but  it  lacked  nothing  in  the  way  of  flying  banners, 
while  the  curious  figures  crowding  its  rails  were  in 
themselves  a  triumph  in  decoration. 

I  will  say  at  once  that  from  first  to  last  not  a 
joyful  sound  was  uttered;  not  a  shout;  not  a 
single  "Hip,  hip,  hurray!"  or  anything  equivalent 
to  "Hip,  hip,  hurray!"  Nothing!  It  was  as 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

though  everybody  was  slightly  embarrassed.  But 
the  Arabs  are  not  given  to  vocif erousness  or  to  any 
kind  of  vocal  demonstration.  Anything  in  the  way 
of  a  roar  of  jubilation  would  be  quite  foreign  to  them. 

We  had  some  difficulty  in  getting  ashore,  having 
to  climb  from  our  launch  over  a  line  of  belums 
anchored  in  the  mud  near  the  bank,  then  walk 
across  a  narrow,  slippery  gang-plank  to  a  more 
slippery  landing  at  the  bottom  of  the  stone  steps 
which  led  up  to  the  arched  entrance  to  the  garden. 
At  the  top  of  these  steps  stood  a  number  of  most 
important-looking  men  who  wore  smart  European 
clothes  and  Persian  turbans.  The  D.  P.  C.  was 
there  to  do  the  introducing  for  us  and  to  smooth 
away  for  them  the  rough  edges  of  novel  social 
contact,  and  we  were  passed  from  one  to  another, 
our  names  going  before  us,  until  we  came  to  the 
Sheikh  himself,  who  stood  just  within  the  garden, 
surrounded  by  his  official  household. 

By  us  I  mean  the  unwelcome — but  most  gra- 
ciously welcomed — women  of  the  party.  The 
General  and  the  Admiral,  with  their  staff-officers, 
remained  on  the  Lawrence  to  come  ashore  a  little 
later  with  proper  pomp  and  ceremony. 

I  shook  hands  with  the  Sheikh,  noticing  with  con- 
siderable satisfaction  that  he  "looked  the  part," 
and  then  walked  on,  as  I  was  directed,  down  a  long 
flag  pavement  on  either  side  of  which  was  drawn 
up  a  double  line  of  Arab  riflemen  standing  at 
ease.  I  could  not  think  of  them  as  soldiers.  They 
looked  like  comic-opera  brigands  "dressing"  the 
stage  for  the  entrance  of  the  barytone.  The  bary- 
tone would  be  the  brigand  chief,  of  course,  while 
the  tenor  would  have  been  captured  and  thrown 

364 


AND  THEN 

into  a  dungeon  behind  the  frowning  walls  of  the 
great  palace. 

We  followed  the  pavement  round  the  main  build- 
ing and  came  to  a  flight  of  steps  leading  up  into 
the  Durbar  hall.  Both  these  steps  and  the  pave- 
ment for  quite  a  distance  were  covered  with  rich 
Persian  rugs,  while  the  balcony  skirting  the  long 
hall  was  not  only  carpeted,  but  was  hung  with 
flags  and  pennants  innumerable. 

It  may  have  been  the  general  sumptuousness  of 
things;  it  may  have  been  the  courtly  manners  of 
the  Sheikh's  Wazir  and  the  tall  Arab  gentlemen 
who  received  us — I  do  not  know;  but  my  Fourth 
of  July  sensations  gave  way  to  something  else — a 
kind  of  stiffness  about  the  knees  and  a  feeling  that 
my  natural  dignity  was  not  quite  enough  and  that 
I  ought  to  try  to  muster  a  little  more  from  some- 
where. The  way  you  feel  when  you  meet  royalty — 
if  you  ever  do! 

The  Durbar  hall,  or  ceremonial  chamber,  is  a 
recent  addition  to  the  palace,  and  looks  as  though 
it  might  have  cost  the  Sheikh  a  tidy  sum,  though 
if  His  Excellency  should  engage  me  as  stage- 
manager  and  scene-shifter  in  the  theater  of  his 
picturesque  activities  I  think  I  should  put  the 
stamp  of  my  approval  on  his  walls  and  priceless 
carpets  and  on  literally  nothing  else.  The  walls, 
decorated  with  a  wide  stucco  frieze  of  warlike 
figures  which  might  have  been  carved  by  Nebuchad- 
nezzar's head  sculptor  for  a  palace  in  ancient  Baby- 
lon, were  completely  fascinating,  while  the  floor  was 
covered  with  just  one  vast  carpet  of  a  depth  of  pile 
and  a  richness  of  tone  not  to  be  described. 

365 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

Down  the  middle  of  the  room  lay  a  long  table 
covered  with  fine  linen  and  "groaning"  under  a 
display  of  gold  and  silver  plate  and  a  bewildering 
variety  of  colorful  sweets  and  other  light  refresh- 
ments, while  the  tufty  and  tasselly  sofas  and  chairs 
and  other  upholstered  articles  of  Occidental  ease 
were  ranged  along  in  a  straight  line  near  either  wall, 
just  under  the  wonderful  frieze. 

The  chairs  of  ceremony  were  three;  for  His 
Excellency,  the  General,  and  the  Admiral;  above 
them  hung  a  portrait  of  King  George  which  would 
convict  that  royal  gentleman  of  a  vast  indifference 
with  regard  to  what  people  think  of  his  looks. 
Behind  the  General's  chair  stood  a  small  table  on 
which,  in  an  open  velvet  case,  were  displayed  the 
insignia  with  which  the  Sheikh  was  to  be  invested. 

Suddenly  an  unbelievable  kind  of  band — the 
Sheikh's  own,  which  proves  how  progressive  he  is 
— began  to  play  "God  Save  the  King"  in  wild  and 
quaintly  flourished  wails,  and  presently  into  the  hall 
marched  His  Excellency,  followed  by  the  General 
and  the  Admiral  and  a  fine  array  of  British  staff- 
officers.  I  do  not  know  what  became  of  the  staff- 
officers.  I  suppose  they  dropped  on  bits  of  up- 
holstery here  and  there.  I  was  busy  watching  the 
principal  actors.  They  came  on  down  past  the  long 
table,  seated  themselves  with  deliberate  dignity, 
and  the  impressive  ceremony  began. 

The  General  was  in  excellent  form.  He  held  his 
written  speech  in  his  hand,  but  did  not  refer  to  it, 
so  I  fancy  there  were  a  few  differences  between  what 
he  said  and  what  was  later  read  to  the  Sheikh  in 
Persian  translation.  But  I  confess  to  a  real  thrill 
when  he  said,  very  gravely,  "In  the  name  of  His 


THT    SHEIKH    OF  MUHAMMERAH,    AFTER   THE   CEREMONY 


AND  THEN 

Majesty,  the  King-Emperor  ..."  and  proceeded 
to  hang  upon  the  handsome  person  of  His  Excel- 
lency the  insignia  of  his  new  and  splendid  honor. 

First  came  the  ribbon,  a  broad  band  of  royal 
purple;  then  the  jeweled  cross;  and  finally  the 
golden  chain  which  clinked  against  the  cross  with 
a  clink  that  must  have  stirred  the  soul  of  the  fine 
old  Arab  as  nothing  had  in  many  a  day. 

He  was  on  the  right  side  in  the  world  war,  but 
in  his  way  he  had  taken  a  mighty  risk.  If  the 
Turks  had  won — not  a  vestige  of  him  or  of  anything 
he  stood  for  would  have  been  left  on  the  face  of  the 
earth.  Without  a  doubt  it  would  have  been  the 
gallows,  the  holocaust,  and  the  sword  for  him  and 
his.  He  had  had  the  temerity  to  uphold  an 
ancient  alliance  made  by  his  fathers  before  him, 
and  it  seemed  to  me  that  he  deserved  well  at  the 
hands  of  his  British  allies.  It  is  not  to  be  forgotten 
that  he  is  Persian  and  that  his  territories  were  in- 
vaded by  the  Turkish-German  army. 

I  shall  remember  him  always  as  he  stood  up  to 
listen  to  the  Persian  translation  of  the  speech  of 
investiture.  He  wore  a  magnificent  Persian  robe 
which  reached  almost  to  his  feet,  and  his  rather 
handsome  old  head,  with  its  thin  black  locks,  was 
bare.  Across  his  breast  lay  the  ribbon  and  the 
chain,  while  beneath  them  gleamed  the  jeweled 
and  enameled  cross.  It  took  fifteen  minutes  to 
read  the  speech,  but  not  once  did  he  move  nor  lower 
his  eyes  from  the  far-away  somewhere  on  which  they 
were  fixed. 

Haji  Rais-ul-Tujjar,  the  Sheikh's  Wazir,  or  Prime 
Minister,  read  the  speech,  and  Haji  Rais  is  a  won- 
derful little  man.  Most  Arabs  are  tall  and  stately. 

367 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

High-class  Arabs,  that  is.  But  Haji  Rais  is  not. 
He  is  only  about  five  feet  five,  but  he  makes  up  in 
loftiness  of  intelligence  what  he  lacks  in  physical 
stature.  His  is  the  commanding  intellect  which 
has  stood  at  the  Sheikh's  right  hand  for  more 
years  than  most  people  can  remember.  He  is 
only  about  seventy  years  old,  but  an  impression 
seems  to  prevail  among  people  generally  that  he 
is  at  least  one  hundred  and  seventy.  He  is  very 
active  and  is  said  to  be  the  only  Arab  extant  who 
never  wastes  anybody's  time. 

He  is  a  very  rich  and  powerful  merchant,  with 
interests  extending  throughout  Persia  and  Meso- 
potamia, and  when  he  has  business  to  transact  with 
a  foreigner  he  does  it  in  the  fewest  possible  words; 
then  picks  up  his  inevitable  little  black  portfolio 
of  papers  and  runs  along.  The  "ul-Tujjar"  in  his 
name  means  "chief  of  merchants."  Which  doesn't 
sound  the  least  like  a  description  of  an  Arab,  does 
it?  An  earnest  little  man  is  Haji  Rais,  and  he  read 
the  General's  speech  up  over  the  tall  Sheikh's 
shoulder  as  though  he  thought  a  good  deal  of 
emphasis  and  a  few  dramatic  pauses  would  have 
a  desirable  effect. 

As  soon  as  the  speeches  were  finished  the  guns  on 
the  Lawrence  began  to  boom.  They  knew  on  the 
Lawrence  how  to  fire  a  salute,  and  the  measured 
precision  of  it  inflicted  nothing  upon  one  in  the 
nature  of  a  nervous  strain.  But  the  response  from 
one  of  the  Sheikh's  old  cannon  would  have  served 
to  convince  the  most  self -controlled  that  he  needed 
either  a  rest  cure  or  a  tonic. 

There  are  eleven  fairly  sizable  guns  bristling 
mund  the  palace,  but  only  two  of  them  are  capable 

368 


AND  THEN 

of  making  a  noise,  and  it  was  painfully  evident  that 
the  Arabs  who  had  been  intrusted  with  the  im- 
portant duty  of  responding  to  the  British  salute 
had  relied  on  luck  with  a  too  complete  and  un- 
inquiring  confidence.  It  took  them  fifteen  minutes 
to  fire  twelve  guns,  the  intervals  being  anything 
from  three  seconds  to  five  full  minutes.  One  lost 
count,  but  while  it  was  going  on  there  was  nothing 
to  do  but  sit  perfectly  quiet — or  try  to. 

Then  the  colorful  refreshments  were  passed 
around,  along  with  coffee  served  in  exquisite  cups 
set  in  holders  of  gold  filigree.  One  of  the  women 
from  Abadan  said  she  knew  a  Persian  princess  who 
always  served  coffee  in  cups  like  that,  and  expected 
her  guests  to  take  them  away  as  souvenirs.  I 
hardly  think  the  Sheikh  lost  any  of  his,  but  if  I 
had  known  that  Persian  princess  I  should  have 
wanted  to  drink  coffee  at  her  expense  at  least 
twelve  times. 

I  begged  a  swift  launch  from  the  General — the 
one  in  which  the  D.  P.  C.  had  made  the  trip  down 
from  Basra — and  decided  to  linger  behind  my  party, 
see  some  more  of  the  Sheikh  and  his  fascinating  en- 
vironment, then  go  on  down  to  Muhammerah  town 
and  run  back  up-river  in  the  late  afternoon.  The 
D.  P.  C.  would  go  back  on  the  Lawrence. 

This  little  supplementary  program  for  myself  ap- 
pealed to  my  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things,  whereas 
sitting  down  to  luncheon  with  my  own  kind  on  a 
gunboat's  deck  did  not  appeal  to  me  in  the  least. 

But  it  is  necessary  that  I  should  stop  now. 
Otherwise  I  should  go  on  and  tell  about  the  inner 

369 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

mysteries  of  the  palace;  about  the  harem;  about 
some  amazing  barbaric  decorations  in  inner  courts 
and  some  more  wonderful  carpets;  about  under- 
ground hot- weather  rooms  furnished  for  the  utmost 
in  luxurious,  somnolent  ease;  and  about  some  in- 
teresting and  sporting  young  sons  of  the  Sheikh — 
all  of  which  and  whom  he  showed  me  himself  while 
he  rather  nervously  fingered  the  ribbon  and  the  gold 
chain  which  hung  about  his  neck. 

But  what  I  really  want  to  tell  is  about  getting 
back  up-river.  Time  sped  so  swiftly  that  I  didn't 
realize  its  passing,  and  when  I  suddenly  glanced 
at  my  watch  I  found  it  was  half  past  five.  By  that 
time  I  was  with  the  British  consul  and  his  wife  in 
the  depths  of  the  bazaar  of  old  Muhammerah,  glee- 
fully bargaining  with  a  good-natured  Persian  over  a 
beautifully  wrought  silver-sheathed  dagger  which  I 
longed  to  possess. 

And  I  am  sure  that  glancing  at  my  watch  cost 
me  at  least  five  dollars.  In  another  two  minutes 
he  would  have  split  the  difference  with  me.  But  I 
was  so  startled  that  I  said,  "Oh,  here!"  Then  he 
got  the  money  and  I  got  the  dagger. 

There  I  was  with  nothing  but  a  shell  of  a  launch 
— as  it  seemed  to  me — to  travel  in,  and  Basra  more 
than  thirty  miles  away!  And  it  would  be  dark  in 
another  half -hour! 

My  two  khaki-clad  Britishers  at  the  engine  and 
the  wheel  were  not  particularly  pleased  with  me. 
I  could  see  that.  And  then  I  made  the  mistake  of 
saying,  as  I  climbed  aboard: 

"I'm  afraid  I'm  a  little  late,"  rather  twirling  the 
"late."  It  was  the  kind  of  apology  that  would 
make  any  normal  man  want  to  lay  violent  hands  on 

370 


AND  THEN 

somebody  or  something,  but  my  pilot  looked  down 
upon  me  from  his  six  feet  or  more  of  magnificent 
muscularity  and  said: 

"Well,  it  Vd  be  all  right  if  we  had  any  lights!" 
And  I  rather  thought  he  twirled  the  ''lights." 

Good  Heavens !  And  we  had  those  sunken  Turk- 
ish ships  to  get  round,  while  farther  up  toward 
Basra  the  river  would  be  crowded  with  rapidly 
moving  craft  of  every  kind,  to  say  nothing  of  ships 
and  mahaylas  and  dhows  innumerable  lying  at 
anchor.  Well,  there  was  nothing  else  for  it!  I 
had  to  get  home ! 

We  swung  down  the  two  miles  of  the  Karun 
River  and  out  into  the  broad  Shatt-el-Arab.  I  have 
said  it  was  a  swift  launch.  It  was.  It  could  make 
twenty-five  miles  an  hour  at  ordinary  speed,  and 
that  kind  of  speed  in  a  shallow  launch  is  terrifying 
even  in  broad  daylight. 

I  said  nothing,  however,  and  even  if  I  had  spoken 
I  could  not  have  been  heard  above  the  noise  of  the 
engine  and  the  wild  wash  of  the  high  foaming  wake 
that  we  left  behind  us.  I  just  sat  tight  in  my  deep 
willow  chair  and  looked  and  looked.  I  tried  to  love 
the  date-gardens  along  the  banks  that  I  had  learned 
to  love  so  much,  and  the  occasional  glimpses  I 
caught  of  the  far-flung  desert  stretching  away  be- 
yond the  palm-fringes  and  the  low-lying,  salt- 
whitened  marshes. 

But  the  serenity  had  departed  from  my  Mesopo- 
tamian  world  and  love  for  it  had  turned  to  a  kind  of 
fearsome  thrill.  Up  from  the  southwest  rolled  with 
incredible  swiftness  a  bank  of  amber  cloud  streaked 
with  black  and  edged  with  the  orange  of  the  desert 
sunset.  The  first  tremendous  flash  of  lightning 

371 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  WORLD 

shot  through  it  in  the  last  faint  glow  of  day,  and 
in  the  darkness  it  left  behind  our  moiling  wake 
shone  ghostly  green  with  vivid  phosphorescence. 

Then  black  night  fell.  The  green  path  streaked 
away  behind  us  and  green  ripples  rolled  away  on 
either  side  to  break  in  little  flecks  of  light  against 
the  near  bank.  Jagged  forks  of  unbelievable 
lightning  cut  great  gashes  in  the  dense  black  over- 
head and  down  the  slope  of  the  sky,  while  thunder 
crashed  and  rumbled  incessantly. 

When  we  came  up  to  the  edge  of  the  traffic  area 
we  had  to  slow  down.  We  had  to  feel  our  way 
darkly,  in  fact,  with  our  motor-horn  constantly 
sounding.  And  then  it  was  that  the  rain  descended 
upon  us.  It  was  not  rain;  it  was  a  deluge. 

Shelter?  No,  not  out  on  the  broad  bosom  of  the 
Shatt-el-Arab  in  a  little  open  launch.  But  nobody 
minded  that.  The  rains  had  begun.  It  was  the 
first  drop  that  had  fallen  in  Mesopotamia  for  more 
than  eight  months.  The  thirsty  land  would  drink 
it  up  and  begin  to  bubble  and  seethe,  and  the 
British  army  would  soon  be  mired  to  its  knees. 
But  in  the  eyes  of  his  people  the  prestige  of  Sir 
Khazal  Khan,  Sheikh  of  Muhammerah,  Knight 
Commander  and  wearer  of  the  Grand  Cross  of  the 
Most  Eminent  Order  of  the  Indian  Empire,  would 
be  immeasurably  enhanced. 

The  next  afternoon  I  went  back  down  the  Shatt- 
el-Arab  on  a  troop-ship,  leaving  with  keen  regret 
that  amazing  land  wherein  an  invading  army  of 
right-minded  men  has  done  and  continues  to  do 
such  extraordinary  things. 

THE   END 


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